


Jury Summons

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M, Halloween, Ouija
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Bored and stuck in Sweden on Halloween, Darcy doesn't want to go to the library with Jane and Ian. Who knew you could summon a demon via Google Translate?Based on a tumblr prompt: Person A accidentally summons a demon. Instead of ruining their life like Person A feared, the demon only commits minor incidents just to annoy Person A (ex: misplacing socks, knocking over a glass, flickering the lights).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

 

“I think this is a terrible Halloween idea,” Jane told Darcy.

“Oh, c’mon, you vetoed a haunted house--” Darcy said.

“I don’t like strangers grabbing at me,” Jane said.

“You never want to go to Tony’s Halloween party in New York with Thor and Mew-Mew,” Darcy added.

“See above,” Jane said, shuddering at the memory of a handsy alt-currency inventor. “I told Thor to enjoy Halloween on Asgard instead, if they have it? I think...” Jane drifted off. She tended to do that. She and Thor were on hiatus at the moment.

“So, we’re just going to sit here in the most boring town in Sweden and do nothing for Halloween again?” Darcy said.

“Yup,” Jane said. “I’m going to the university library with Ian. You can come, too? Our interlibrary loan journals are in. They’ve got the new one with Richardson’s Alaskan project!” Her voice was gleeful.

“Yeah, because that’s not a Halloween activity,” Darcy said, thinking of the creepiness of library fluorescents and squeaky waxed linoleum after dark.

“Huh?” Jane said.

“Nothing,” Darcy muttered. “I’ll just play with my ouija board alone.”

“Okay,” Jane said cheerfully. “I’ll be back later! Ian?” Jane called down from the top of the stairs in their rental house.

“Coming, Jane!” Ian said from the vicinity of the kitchen. “Bye, darling,” he called up to Darcy.

“Bye,” Darcy called glumly. Ian and Jane were far more alike than Darcy was like either of them. It could be very isolating. She sometimes longed for someone fun to do things with. Not even big things. Just little activities: listening to music, going for drives (this would make more sense if they didn’t take the train everywhere, but it was the principle), trying little dive restaurants or funny European snacks. She was terrifically lonely, a lot of the time. And she didn’t speak more than three words of Swedish, despite trying until she was blushing and stuttering in public and had developed a complex. Her Swedish was just awful. She could read some things, but her speaking skills meant she was constantly struggling and flustered. Ian, naturally good at this stuff, had started laughing at her, which made it worse. And she missed talking. There was nothing like the soul-deep longing to be able to say exactly what you wanted to say, correct tenses and all. She ached to be more fluent. Darcy sighed and looked at the book on Scandinavian folk traditions in her lap. She’d thought a book on mythology would be a fun reading exercise. She set it aside as too difficult and googled _summoning spirits on the Ouija._ “Like this will be fun alone,” she told the board, sighing. “I could put this incantation through Google translate?”

 

That was how she ended up with a rudimentary call for a spirit in what was probably very terrible Swedish. _"_ _Ande, prata med mig,”_ Darcy said. _“Jag behöver hjälp från den andra världen.”_ She set her phone down, put her fingers on the planchette, and repeated her query for “assistance from the other world.” Beneath her fingers, the planchette jumped. “Ahhh!” Darcy said. “Hello--I mean, _hej?”_ She was assuming the spirit would be Swedish. The planchette rolled to _Yes._ “Are you Swedish?” Darcy asked, just for clarification. The planchette rolled to _No._ “Huh,” Darcy said. Under her hands, the plastic began to move again.

“A--

“M--  
“E--

“R--

“I--

“C--

“A-

“N. Oh, you’re American? Me, too,” Darcy said, before she realized she was talking to herself. Practically. “Let me guess, you hung out in New Mexico before your unfortunate death,” she joked out loud. “Met Thor?” The planchette swung to _Yes_ again. “I can totally tell this is my fingers,” she said. “Unless that’s you, Phil?” Almost unwillingly, her fingers began to move with the piece of plastic, spelling out a sentence: _Phil isnt dead._

“Yeah he is,” Darcy snarked.

_No._

“Yes,” she said. “Nobody’s seen him since New York!” Darcy said. “I can’t believe I’m arguing--oh.” It jumped again, this time, jerking her forward over the Ouija.

_Phil runs covert ops for SHIELD. No dead._

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Shit.”

_Not dead. Typo. Sorry._

“Who is this?” Darcy said. The planchette began to scrape slowly across the board, spelling out a word.

_Brockrumlow._

“Bro Ckru--what?” Darcy said. She definitely wasn’t doing this. The planchette grew agitated, then spelled again. “Brock?” she said. It moved to _Yes._ “Okay,” Darcy said. Then it spelled again.

“Rumlow. Brock Rumlow. Who is that?” Darcy said. “Is that a name?”

The planchette jerked to _Yes_ again, seemingly irritated.

“Well, sorry, I don’t know her,” Darcy said, doing her best Mariah Carey. The planchette began spelling again.

“Crossbones?” Darcy said, so horrified that she jumped up off the bed. “The terrorist SHIELDRA guy who was killed in Nigeria?”

 

The planchette--several feet away from her--slid by itself across the board and landed on _Yes._

 

***

“Jane,” Darcy said from the nearest Swedish coffee shop that stayed open late. “What, uh, theoretically happens if I summoned someone with the Ouija board?” She’d fled the house and immediately called Jane at the library.

“Who Bloody Mary?” Jane said.

“Uh, no. Worse?” Darcy said.

“Darce, we have work to do, there’s no time for jokes,” Jane said.

“But this is not a joke! I thought of a thing to summons and put it through Google translate to practice my Swedish--”

“Summons like jury summons?” Jane said incredulously. Darcy heard Ian over the phone.

“Jury summons?” he was saying, laughter in his voice.

“She thinks she’s summoned a spirit with Google translate,” Jane told him, outright laughing now.

“Guys, this is real!” Darcy said.

“C’mon, I know you’re bored, but Darcy, you need to find a project,” Jane told her. “Even if it’s just another of those photo series you did. People loved your Instagrams of Norwegian sidewalks--”

“Look, I know this sounds crazy, but the freaking thing moved and spelled out Crossbones and Brock Rumlow,” Darcy said. “The one from Nigeria?”

“You think you brought back an evil HYDRA mole?” Jane said.

“Yes!” Darcy said.

“Did he even speak Swedish?” Jane wondered.

“Oh my God, so not the point,” Darcy said.

“I think your imagination is overactive and you need an outlet,” Jane said. “Because you’re bored.”

“Fine, I admit boredom, but this real,” Darcy insisted. Jane was still laughing when she hung up.

 

Nervously, Darcy returned to the house. There was no sign of anything. The Ouija board remained where she left it, planchette resting on that one ominous word. Darcy was staring from the doorway into her and Ian’s room when a sound made her almost jump out of her skin. “Hello, it’s just us!” Jane yelled.

“Only Jane and the Wolfman!” Ian called up. He had grown a patchy beard. Darcy wasn’t a fan.

“Hi,” she said back, then darted into the room to clean stuff up. She was downstairs a few minutes later, the object of their jibes and teasing. But she kept looking upstairs.

“You’re really nervous, aren’t you?” Ian asked.

“She is!” Jane said. “Like a kid!”

“You weren’t there,” Darcy insisted. “Please stop making fun of me.” She went upstairs to bed angry that night, but then woke up to soft music from her phone and an extra warm blanket. Ian must have turned on her Pink Martini and gotten another quilt from the closet, she thought, before drifting off again.

 

Darcy was nervous that she would feel an ominous presence or something, but other than finding her bedroom light on or the closet door ajar, nothing unusual happened to her in the next few days. And those could be Ian anyway. He was very absent minded sometimes.

 

 

***

Jane noticed first. Little things started to happen around the house: Ian’s socks kept getting misplaced, Jane’s journals were hidden under the couch, someone deleted Ian’s soccer matches from the TV. At first, Darcy got blamed. Partially, this was because she had a run of good luck: her things were unbothered and her socks never went missing. Instead, she kept finding twenty dollar bills and Hershey bars around the house. Jane assumed that Darcy was trying to prolong the ouija board prank.

One day, the three of them had a huge fight about it that ended when Darcy left in a huff. She came back in tears, too. Then more elaborate, pointed things started to happen, but only when Darcy wasn’t at home. Jane’s most recent article draft got rearranged when she left the room for two minutes and _stop being such an asshole, Foster_ was typed across a Word doc, Ian’s tofu ended up in the trash, and both knew Darcy was in another part of town, getting something for Jane from customs. “Do we tell her?” Ian asked Jane.

“No, she’d freak. I’ll tell Thor, though,” Jane said.  

The weirdest thing happened that night: Ian woke up clinging to the edge of the bed, while one of Darcy’s favorite songs played from her little speaker and phone dock. “What the hell?” he wondered out loud, reaching over Darcy to turn it off. She snuggled against him and sighed.

In the morning, she tromped downstairs and kissed him greedily while he was in the middle of telling Jane his story. “What’s that for, love?” Ian asked. She wasn’t a morning person and usually needed coffee before kisses.

“You were so sweet last night,” Darcy said.

“I was?” Ian said.

“Don’t kid,” Darcy said. “You know how much I love cuddles.” She turned to Jane. “He was adorable. I half-woke up and he was big spooning me and petting my hair and talking about how he’d keep me cozy, that we’re going to spend more time together,” Darcy told Jane. When she left the kitchen, Ian and Jane looked at one another.

“Wasn’t me,” Ian whispered hoarsely. “Spooning makes me all sweaty.”

“I’ll try Heimdall again,” Jane said. “Then I’m sending Darcy out and going upstairs.” She got that determined look. Ian swallowed.

 

Once Darcy had left, the two of them went upstairs. Ian carried a bat. “That won’t work on a dead guy,” Jane said.

“I might try anyway,” Ian said. Jane pushed open their bedroom door. The room looked normal enough.

“Hey, asshole,” Jane yelled, “where are you?” The dresser mirror rocked and both of them spun around. Ian swung the bat. “Stop!” Jane yelled. “The mirror!” Ian halted just in time and there was a chuckle behind them. Ian froze, jaw hanging open. Jane turned slowly. She recognized the man leaning against the windowsill from the news footage of Nigeria.

“What’s up, Doc?” he said casually. Those scars twisted when he smirked.

“You’re looking very corporeal, Commander Rumlow,” Jane said slowly. He wasn’t even transparent.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “For that, you can thank your, uh, well, I guess you’d call her your almost sister-in-law? But you and Thor are on a break? That’s too bad.”

“Thor doesn’t have a sister,” Jane said.

“Yeah, he does,” Rumlow said. “If he’s been MIA, it’s because they’ve been having a little family squabble up at the castle. She ended up back on Vormir with the rest of us, but well, the future of Asgard’s a little iffy, Jane.”

“Oh,” Jane said, suddenly understanding why Thor hadn’t replied to the sign she’d propped up on the roof.

“Anyhow, Hela--that’s her name--decided she wouldn’t mind me hanging around here in my last physical form, if there was the possibility that it might upset Thor. She’s the Goddess of Death. For me, that’s kinda like a fairy godmother,” he said. “Grants all kinds of wishes, kids.”

“What are you going to do?” Jane said slowly. “Go after Steve again? I’ll portal you straight back to hell,” she vowed. Behind her, Ian made a nervous sound. But Rumlow merely grinned.

“Cap? I’ll have to give it some thought,” he said ominously. “But in the meantime, there’s no point in trying to separate me and Darcy. She called me up, so we’re tethered together now. You try to portal me out of here, she comes with. We’re a package deal.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

“I’m going back. Will you stay with Jane?” Darcy asked Ian. It was three days since they had discovered the undead man in the house. They were researching how to get rid of him at the library.

“You’re going back?” Ian said. “Alone?” His expression was horrified. He was visibly frightened of Rumlow. Darcy had come home to find him slumped on the floor, glassy-eyed,  while Jane yelled at Rumlow and then phoned Erik for advice. Erik had helped them with general rules regarding Vormir ghosts—or demons or whatever he was.

“He won’t hurt her, they’re linked, whatever happens to her impacts his ability to stay here,” Jane said, looking up from her guide to the supernatural. She had dark circles and had been reading nonstop. “I know this is my fault and I will fix it,” Jane told her. She had been saying that for days. Erik had theorized that her past exposure to the Aether and their relationship with Thor had left them somewhat more open to inter-Realm meddling, like some sort of radiation cling. So, Jane was working maniacally and Darcy was afraid she was going to collapse.

“You need to rest, though,” Darcy said. “I’ll go talk to him, make sure he lets you sleep.” She had negotiated Rumlow into to staying in their attic. Strangely enough, he was compliant with her, but Darcy didn’t trust him.

“Are you sure?” Ian said tremulously.

“Yeah, just make sure you both get home okay,” Darcy said.

 

***

“I thought I asked you to stay upstairs?” Darcy said, when she arrived home to find him sitting downstairs in the dark living room, washed in the blue glow of the television. He tilted his scarred face at her.

“You’ve been gone seven hours,” he said, turning off CNN. He stood.

“Jane has been working on her latest project, so I need you to let her sleep tonight,” Darcy said.

“A lie,” he said, standing just a fraction too close. “She’s trying to throw me out. But I’ll do it for you, princess.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said rotely. She was trying very hard not to flinch at his appearance. When she made to step away, he moved in front of her.

“What do I get?” he asked.

“What?” she said.

“I should get a reward for being good. I’ve been very good,” he said. “I want dinner.”

“Fine,” Darcy said, unclear on the rules of his calorie consumption. Food had moved around but she didn’t know if he was eating it or just screwing around. “I’ll make you something.” He tsk-tsk’d.

“No,” he said. “I want dinner with you. Together. Alone.”

“How—?” Darcy began, before she shut her mouth. “You’re a little conspicuous,” she amended. “Restaurants would be a challenge.”

“Hmmm,” he said, grinning. “Not a bad point. I guess I’ll make you dinner then. Call your boyfriend and tell him you have a date.” Darcy rolled her eyes.

 

“Why?” Darcy asked later. He was chopping tomatoes. She was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hmm?” Rumlow said.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“You called me,” he said.

“I did not,” Darcy said.

“I heard you all the way on Vormir. You were lonely. You asked for help from the other side. So, I’m here,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“I want you to go back,” Darcy said. She kept her voice calm. The only outward sign of anger or emotion was the increased pressure of his chopping.

“I can’t go now, you’re still in need,” Rumlow said wryly.

“You are actively causing my loved ones distress,” Darcy told him.

“But finally, they’re seeing how they neglected you, sweetheart. You’ve been very mistreated.” He sliced an onion. “I don’t like that.”

“Why should you care?” Darcy asked.

“You think I don’t know exactly how you feel? Always being the good, dutiful assistant, the one who does all the grunt work to facilitate Foster’s little genius show, while people fawn over her and push you aside?” he said, sounding aggressive. “I was that for Cap for _years._ He sucked all the air out of every room, but did he notice? No. Too busy complaining about ‘cleaning up Fury’s mess.’ Some of us had fought to get there—were desperate to stay—but not the golden boy, the precious star.” His voice was bitter and seething.

“I don’t hear you feeling sorry for me, just yourself,” Darcy said, getting up.

“Where are you going?” Rumlow asked.

“To bed, I lost my appetite.”

 

She was laying across the bed twenty minutes later when he brought in food. “What are you doing?” she said, as he set a tray on her nightstand.

“It’s food,” he said.

“Is it cursed?” she joked. “Am I going to be locked into some sort of bargain where I have to spend six months with you on Vormir every year if I eat it?”

“No,” he said, blinking down at her.

“It’s not going to work,” she said, eyeing the food. He moved over to the windowsill to lean. He did that. Rumlow had some strange aversion to looking at people straight on. He was always looking at her out of the corner of his battered eyes. “Whatever you’re planning. If we have to stay together, I won’t get near anyone you consider a target.” He didn’t respond. After a moment, it was clear he wasn’t going to. Darcy looked down at the food in front of her. He’d even brought wine and napkins, like she was a fancy person. But she was hungry. Her stomach growled. _What the hell,_ she thought, _it’s not like my life can get any weirder._ She picked up the fork and started eating. “This is good,” she admitted begrudgingly.

“It’s saffron rice and chicken,” he said. “If you lived on anything other than Pop-Tarts, you’d be less impressed.”

“Are you making fun of your tether to this plane of existence, bro?” she said.

“Bro?” he said, actually turning to face her now.

“Because that wasn’t your whole vibe in life? Look at me, I jump out of planes, I’m a badass with a really big gun and even bigger secret Nazi thing,” Darcy said. He rolled his head back against the wall, so his chin was pointed at the ceiling. Even his throat was scarred. “By the by,” Darcy said, once she realized he wasn’t going to take the bait, “if we’re all linked together and everything, what happens to you if I yeet myself out of existence?”

“Excuse me?” he said.

“You know, go all Dorothy Parker, start writing poetry about razors or drinking myself to death or sticking my head in the oven. They have gas ones in this country. I mean, you did, so that gives me ideas--” She stopped when she realized he was glaring down at her.

“Try any dumb bullshit, Lewis, and I will make you live to regret it,” he said bluntly. “Eat your fucking food.”

“Someone’s mad,” she said, sipping the wine. It was quiet as she ate. He kept staring, which was weird and uncomfortable, but she needed to learn to ignore him anyway. The suicide threat was probably a miscalculation, she realized, because he was standing closer to her now. “I’m not going to stab myself with this butter knife,” she said. Eventually, he actually sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the side of her bed. All she could see was the back of his head, where the hair was close-cropped. That was slightly better. The side of his face still made her wince a little. She had to keep reminding herself that he’d chosen HYDRA and not get sympathetic because his burns were terrible. _Dead Nazis don’t need your pity_ ought to be her new mantra, she decided. It wasn’t like he’d been exploited or abused; this wasn’t some situation where he’d joined, like, the IRA out of some misguided anti-colonialist sentiment or something. He’d just fucked off and joined the Squid set. Now he was paying for it. But why was she paying for it, she wondered? Her Baptist grandma would probably say it was because she’d messed with occult and didn’t go to church and was living with Ian without being married, like a sinner. Darcy sighed.

“Something wrong with the food?” he said.

“No,” she said. “Just the company.” He scoffed.

“I notice the boyfriend didn’t come back with you,” he said suddenly. “I know what Foster’s up to, but if he thinks I’m so frightening, why did he let you come back here alone with me?”

“Probably because he knows that you won’t injure me,” Darcy said. “He’s very intelligent.”

“Is he?” Rumlow said.

“He’s an ABD astrophysicist,” she said, using the grad school lingo for someone who’d finished a master’s and the coursework for a Ph.D, but not written their dissertation yet. “All but dissertation. He’ll be a doctor in two years, max.”

“I’m so impressed,” Rumlow said dryly.

 

***

They were still in her room when someone returned. “Darcy!” Ian called from downstairs.

“Upstairs,” she said. He got to the doorway and then stopped.

“Hello, Ian,” Rumlow said. “I made dinner.” He stood up. “I’ll go back up to my attic now,” he said in a dry voice. He purposefully shoulder-checked Ian on the way out. Ian stumbled slightly, but recoiled from Rumlow’s gaze.  

“Sorry,” Darcy began, once the Rumlow’s footsteps had faded, “he’s being an asshole tonight--”

“I come home,” Ian said, cutting her off and practically spitting out the words, “and you’re alone with it in our bedroom and that thing has made you dinner? Do you know how that looks?”

“Like I’m being freaking haunted?” Darcy said. “Trust me, this isn’t exactly a great time for me.” She glared at him.

“Shit,” Ian said. “Shit.” He stepped inside and shut the door. Coming to sit next to Darcy on the bed, he looked at the food tray and ran a hand through his hair. Taking her hand, he fumbled with the not-engagement ring he’d given her for her last birthday, the one she wore on her middle finger. It had an amethyst stone. “I’m sorry. Jane can’t find anything,” he said. “Everyone’s on edge, love. I don’t mean to snap.”

“I know,” Darcy said, not unkindly.

“I think I should go see Erik, if you think--if you think you can tolerate it,” Ian said. “Be back as soon as I can.”

“If you think Erik might be able to help?” Darcy said.

“He told Jane that he knows people,” Ian said quietly, cutting his eyes towards the stairwell to the attic.

“When will you go?” Darcy said.

“Tomorrow. If that’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’m--I’m frightened to leave you, though.”

“I can handle it. I’m the safest person, anyway,” Darcy said. “It’s like Jane says, I won’t get hurt.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Ian said. “I think he wants to win you over somehow. Manipulate you.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said.

 

They were both quiet in bed that night. It all hung over them. Darcy thought Ian’s gaze was focused on the ceiling above their bed. Ian held her hand and turned the ring around on her finger until they both drifted off. In the morning, she hugged Ian goodbye on the sidewalk. It was cold but clear outside. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Soon,” he repeated, frowning. He was taking a train to Norway.

“I know,” Darcy said, standing up on her toes to kiss him softly.

“Be careful. I don’t trust him,” Ian said.

“You think I do?” Darcy said, smirking. He looked chagrined for a moment and mouthed the word _sorry._ “It’s okay,” Darcy said. “I know.” Ian re-wrapped her scarf gently. She nuzzled his face. “Don’t forget that you’re one of my real tethers to the world,” Darcy told him. She wanted to fix this so she could imagine her life would unfold as she’d planned: he’d finish his dissertation, they’d get married, one day they’d have a life together with time for just the two of them. There was a dog in that life. Not Rumlow. But they would get rid of him, Darcy thought. They would make everything go back to normal.

“I’ve got to go,” Ian said. He kissed her forehead.

 

When she got back inside, Jane was glaring at Rumlow as he leaned against the wall. “Don’t think you’ll run me off so easily,” Jane barked at him, then caught sight of Darcy and immediately looked guilty.

“Shhh, Foster, you’ll hurt her feelings,” Rumlow chided. “It’s not like I ran her man off because he’s a coward. That wasn’t personal. He’s just solving her me problem, right?”

“You need to go get some sleep, I know you worked all night,” Darcy told Jane, ignoring Rumlow. The scientist looked exhausted and edgy. “I’m not upset, but you go take a nap.” Darcy had heard Jane come back into the house at dawn and knew she’d somehow hidden at the library or found an all-night place to read.

“Okay,” Jane said.

“C’mon,” Darcy said, leading her gently to her room. Then she went to make herself some coffee. Rumlow was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Nobody awake but us, huh? What do you want to do, princess?” he asked her, grinning one of his strange smiles.

“We aren’t doing anything,” Darcy said. She didn’t want to leave Jane alone in the house with him, or she would have left, so instead she went to her room, opened her laptop, and put her earbuds in. She didn’t turn her music on. She left on a quiet documentary, so she could hear him moving around, make sure he didn’t annoy Jane. Soon, Darcy heard a soft tread on the stairs.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” he said, stepping into the doorway.

“Can’t I?” Darcy said, looking up.

“No,” he said. He slumped down on the floor again. She pretended not to look at him as she memorized the whirl of the cowlick pattern on the back of his head. They sat together in silence for what felt like a long time, but was only twenty minutes, according to Darcy’s laptop.

“How is it?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he said, half turning his head.

“Being dead?” she said archly. His gaze lingered on her.

“Not terrible, all things considered. How’s your movie?” he asked.

“It’s a documentary on street food. They started in Thailand,” Darcy said. He slid his eyes toward the screen. The documentary was talking to an elderly street vendor.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he said. “I’ve been there.”

“Thailand?”

“Yeah, to that actual fucking guy,” he said. “I met him before I was dead. They were good noodles. It was after a mission. I was drunk at the time.”

“And now you’re here,” Darcy said.

“Now I’m here,” he said.

“You don’t want to go back to Vormir?” she asked.

“I’m never going back to Vormir,” he said. His face twisted into another grin. “You’re stuck with me, princess.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That face reveal, tho: https://youtu.be/nEeW5ffOWnE


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos! Y'all are amazing!

“You should understand that if something happens to Jane or Ian, I will hurt myself to hurt you,” Darcy told him. Her expression was serious. He nodded. “You’re not going to say anything?” Darcy asked. The street food documentary had moved on to Vietnamese chefs.

“I acknowledge and appreciate the message you are conveying,” he said. “I will not inflict physical harm on Foster or Boothby, all right?”

“Good,” Darcy said.

“You want a snack?” he asked.

“Why are you always feeding me?” Darcy asked.

“Maybe I want to get on your good side while I’m your house guest,” Rumlow said, standing up to leave the room. This much was true. If he could get her to accept or even tolerate his presence, Hela had made it clear that he could stay, live out his full lifespan. But he had several worries: one, Foster was clever enough to outfox Hela and could actually find a solution to undo the magic that kept him tethered to Lewis. Two, Lewis’s dipshit boyfriend was a barrier to her getting used to him being around. Not that he was afraid of Ian. Ian could hardly stand to look at him; the kid was a collection of twitches, flinches, and jumps. He was scared shitless. Everything about that fucker was beige, too, he snickered to himself. No, the dipshit boyfriend was less of a worry than the angry genius, if Rumlow tallied up the risks for his future. The scientist had redefined space and time with an old van and refurbished toaster parts, so he shouldn’t underestimate her as an enemy. Foster was the one more likely to shoot him, too. The HYDRA-honed side of his personality would have eliminated a threat like Foster immediately, but that would totally alienate him from Lewis or send her into a depression. The mention of suicide had alarmed him. He didn’t particularly appreciate his tether to the world being so damn...flimsy. He wanted her strongly anchored and eager to live. How could he manage, he wondered? There had to be a trick…there was always a trick...it suddenly occurred to him that Foster would halt her attempts to portal him out of there _if Lewis wanted to keep him around._

 

It all came back to Lewis. So, he would focus on her. What did she need? Want? His attempts at getting her to see the essential similarities between them had failed. He needed another plan. As he went downstairs to find Lewis some snacks, he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and shook his head slightly. He should have been more specific when he asked Hela for his old body and asked specifically for the pre-Triskelion face. He would have better odds of getting Lewis to empathize with him if he was still handsome. He was stuck with this face. But Rumlow was adaptable. He could manage his shit. All he had to do was get one tiny, underappreciated lab assistant to feel sorry for him. He could do that. He had learned from Pierce. What would he do? The old man would look at Lewis, really assess her, dig deep into her wants, her needs, the places where there was a lack or a sense of emptiness or a soft underbelly. Pierce would do the work with patience and sensitivity, treating you like a favorite student whose marks were just a fraction too low. But still, the focus was on your weaknesses. As he moved around the kitchen, he made a mental list:

 

Career: Lewis didn’t have one, as far as he could tell. There was a framed diploma on her bedroom wall for a degree in political science, but she wasn’t a political scientist now. She’d graduated with honors, which probably meant she was wildly overqualified to fetch Foster’s equipment and coffee. Maybe she had a secret career wish?

 

Relationships: As far as he could tell, she had devoted herself to Foster for years, but Foster was snappish, short-tempered, and generally aggressive and abrasive. He’d witnessed Foster assume Lewis was responsible for the little tricks he’d done just to test his ability to manipulate physical items and irritate Foster and Boothby for picking on Lewis. Yet Lewis hadn’t told Foster to fuck right off. That suggested to Rumlow that Lewis had probably sought to please emotionally absent parents.

 

And look at Boothby. Years and years and he hadn’t made it official. There had been a noticeable lack of physical affection between them, too. Lewis seemed to initiate it all—the kisses, the hand holding, everything. He hadn’t forgotten the way she’d practically melted in his touch when he cuddled her. Rumlow would just need to prod at that area more gently.

 

Family: Where was her biological family, if she let her ad hoc one drag her around the world and treat her like this?

 

He hummed to himself as he sliced an apple. _Give people what they want, their deepest desire, Pierce used to say. Deep down, it’s the same for all of us: security._

 

“Princess,” he said teasingly, “I come bearing gifts.”

“Cheese, fruit, and wine? Am I in a Diane Keaton movie?” Darcy snarked.

“Maybe. She ever have a ghost?” Rumlow asked.

“No.” Her voice was glum.

“Eat your fancy cheese and we’ll talk,” he said softly. “Try the fig jam.”

“What are we talking about?” she said.

“Our future together, don’t scoff, hear me out—”

“You want to manipulate me with all your food and your fig jam,” Darcy objected.

“Yeah,” he said, “I do.” When she stared, he went on. “I want you to let me stay. So, I’ll do anything you want except go back to Vormir. You want food? I’ll feed you. You need someone to carry books, I’m yours.  Hell, I’ll do your damn laundry and buy you tampons at 3am,” he said.

“You can do that?” she said.

“I’m a grown man, I can buy tampons,” he said.

“No, I meant leave the house?” she said. “You can leave?”

“On your orders, yeah, I can,” he lied. He could go fairly far from her independently, but he wanted to keep her close, not have her keep him out. “And I can follow you everywhere,” he added.

“So, I can make you do things?” she said archly.

“You can,” he said, smirking. “Just you.”

“Okay, one hundred pushups, wiseass,” Darcy said, smirking back. He got down on the floor and began a count, rising and lowering his body. It showed off the scarred muscles in his arms, he thought, pleased.

“This good, sweetheart, or do you want me to take my shirt off?” he said. She rolled her eyes.

“No talking during pushups,” Darcy told him.

 

***

He let her relax for a few days while he ran her errands, carried the heavy equipment, and washed Foster’s grubby, threadbare flannel shirts. “I know what you’re doing,” Jane told him one morning, as he made breakfast.

“What’s that, Jane?” he said.

“You’re trying to win her over,” the scientist said sharply.

“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding. “You want French toast? I make a good French toast.”

“Why? What’s your game?” Jane asked.

“My game?” he said, chuckling. “I like living. Your kitchen is much more comfortable than Vormir--”

“Like you don’t have old scores to settle,” she told him, leaving the kitchen.

“No French toast?” he called back.

 

When he carried the tray up to Darcy, she blinked sleepily at him in surprise. “You’re bringing me breakfast?” she said, sitting up. Her hair was askew.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he said. “Jane snubbed my French toast. I’m trying not to have hurt feelings, princess.”

“She thinks it’s murder toast, probably,” Darcy said.

“Foster thinks I want to kill you?” he said, shaking his head. “Nope, I intend for you to live.”

“Oh God, you’re not going to forge power of attorney and keep me alive in a coma like Sunny von Bulow, are you?” Darcy said, imagining a future-ninety year old her hooked to a respirator as Rumlow leaned over her, still young and ominously scarred. She shivered.

“That’s a very inside reference,” he said, tilting his head at her.

“I liked the movie, the one with Glenn Close,” she said.

 _“Reversal of Fortune,”_ he supplied, grinning. “Maybe I’ll take that as the new personal motto. It was a good movie.”

“Stop that,” Darcy said.

“Eat your breakfast, Princess Sunny,” he said, taking his own plate and beginning to eat.

“You can eat?” she asked, sounding curious.

“I can do all the normal things,” he said. “It feels just like being alive.”

“Oh,” she said. That seemed to give Darcy things to think about. He looked at her after breakfast.

 

“Where would you like to go today?” he asked.

“What?” Darcy said.

“I thought I could get you out of the house for a bit, I think Foster is just scribbling and muttering to herself downstairs,” he told her. “Can I borrow your laptop, too? I want to check something.” She watched as he went outline. He found what he was looking for. “Wonderful,” he said.

“What?” she said.

“My old bank accounts haven’t been closed,” he said.

“Your terrorist bank accounts?” she said, sounding horrified.

“Excuse me, I robbed banks. I took the bank’s money,” he said.

“You do realize that people’s money lives in banks, right?” Darcy said to him.

“Including mine,” he said, smirking. “What would you like? I’m ordering new cards--unless,” he paused and checked the wallet that had migrated into his pocket when Hela returned him to his previous form. “Look, they aren’t even expired. I’ll have to buy you a present for bringing me back to life.”

“I don’t want presents,” she said, jutting her chin out.

“Of course you do. Everyone likes presents,” he said. “Go get ready, I’ll take the dishes downstairs.”

 

“Where are we going?” she asked, after she’d told a worried-looking Jane that they were going out. Darcy and Jane had decided the best thing for Darcy to do was play along while Jane and Ian looked for a solution. Darcy had assumed he would want to go for, like, a walk or something? So, she was surprised when he was waiting for her with printed out train tickets. He had a knit cap pulled low over his ears and forehead and aviators on.

“Stockholm,” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I didn’t realize how much you could move around without attracting attention in those,” she said honestly. “Is that how you weren’t arrested?”

“Pretty much,” he said, walking her towards the train station. “I get a little attention,” he said, grinning slyly.

Darcy thought he was fucking with her until she actually caught a woman checking him out on the train. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “It’s all about the energy, princess,” he said. “And my ass is still really good.”

“Oh my God,” she said, rolling her eyes. He talked the whole trip, bullshitting with her, getting coffee, telling stories, and grinning broadly. He seemed...happy? It was astonishingly strange.

“What?” he said.

“You’re happy?” she said.

“This--this right here is the good life,” he said cheerfully. “Much better than freezing my ass off in a cave, waiting for them.”

“Them who?” Darcy asked. He frowned, sighed.

“I left the group before Nigeria--” he began.

“HYDRA?” she mouthed. He nodded.

“Didn’t care anymore, all seemed like bullshit,” he said. “We lost, it was over. I went out on my own--”

“Crime spree?” she offered in an arch whisper.

“Shh, I’m telling a story,” he said. “Drink your train coffee. So, when I get _there_ after the last stop, they don’t want nothing to do with me. All my old friends, old coworkers? They cut me cold. You gotta stay in a group there, and Schmidt, he made me a non-person. They all follow him now, even though he’s a strategic moron. Anyway, I had to make my own way, survive with Hela’s little projects roaming around.”

“Projects?” Darcy said.

“She breeds ‘em, lets ‘em run wild, they’re the offspring of her wolf, Fenrir. They eat you”--

“You can die there?” she whispered.

“You wake up back where you were after a period. Once the shredding has finished. It’s like _Groundhog Day_ , only bloodier,” he said. “That’s why people make groups.”

“They got you?” she said, sounding horrified.

“A few times,” he said. “Once was enough. I started prepping then, learning how to survive out there alone. It wears on you,” he said, looking grim.

“You should have thought about that before your spree,” she told him, pushing away the sympathy she’d felt nudging her. “If you had, you could have fled that hospital and just hid out, but you had to have your way, had to go for Steve, killed those people. You earned that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, relaxing and grinning at her. “Nag me, why dontcha?”

“You did not call me a nag right now,” she said.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he said, sliding down and back in his seat. “I didn’t mean for that to happen to those Wakandans, either,” he said. Darcy stared at him.

“Sure,” she said sarcastically. “You just thought that would happen without casualties?” she whispered

“I thought he’d hop on me, absorb the blast. It’s his signature move! My plan was not for him to choke. I thought we’d go out together, it would be poetic. Just us. Two serumed up headcases, Beauty and the Beast,” he said wryly.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, “someone’s a real headcase.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all. You know what else, though? If I wasn’t by myself out there, I wouldn’t have heard you calling, princess. If the past hadn’t gone down like that, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Golly gee, how would I live without you?” Darcy said.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon for Vormir is loosely based on adding Hela + reading about a Liam Neeson movie called The Grey where Frank Grillo co-starred. They're Alaskan workers who survive a plane crash, but are hunted by quasi-supernatural(?) wolves in the remote wilderness: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujrBaHS8UTg.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos.

Erik told him that he’d be fine. Just fine. But Ian’s hands still shook as he knocked at the door. The voice inside said his name. “Mr. Boothby, please come in.” It was a strangely old-fashioned room. The man inside reminded Ian a little bit of engravings of Charles Dickens. He had heavy sideburns.

“Hello,” he began nervously. “I’m Ian.”

“Do sit. I am aware,” the man said. One of his eyes was milky and glassy and the side of his face was mangled. “I do apologize for the alarm my appearance might cause you. I had some difficulty in getting back from Vormir.” Ian nodded and attempted to sit down without knocking something down in the cluttered room. When his elbow almost took out a lamp, he jumped.

“But you think I can put him back?” he asked, grabbing the lamp.

“It will be difficult. The ingredients are challenging to procure,” he said. “It is an old spell. I am sending you on a quest, Mr. Boothby.”

“A quest?” Ian said. He looked nervously at the man opposite him.

“You are like a knight, in a contest against heaven and earth,” the man said. “Much will be asked of you. Are you certain that you have merit?”

“I-I think so?” Ian said doubtfully, swallowing. The man smiled.

“What pleasant modesty. You are a Sir Gawain, then,” he said.

“I am?” Ian said. Who the bloody hell was sir Gawain? He’d studied science. Ian had no clue. He tried to rub the sweat off his palms on the leg of his jeans.

 

***

The first trip, they went to the aquarium in Stockholm. Darcy found it oddly soothing, even with him lingering somewhere behind her.  The tanks glowed blue. She’d always liked aquariums. You could lose yourself pretending to be at the bottom of the ocean. Darcy loved the water. When she was small, she usually picked Princess Ariel as her favorite, too. So, it was strangely relaxing to be here. She chose to ignore Rumlow. She watched the fish drifting behind the glass, threaded between the clusters of tourists, peered at a tank with a starfish. She wanted to give Jane plenty of time to work unobserved. She circled the same exhibits several times, standing close enough that she could peer deep into the tanks. Fish swam by with a soothing calmness. Next to Darcy, a little girl oooh’d. When she looked over her shoulder, Darcy realized Rumlow was leaning against one of the corner walls without a tank, watching her. He didn’t hurry her, though. “Stay until closing, Lewis,” he said. “It’s not like I’ve got somewhere more important to be.” He grinned.

 

When the aquarium closed, he looked at her. “Food?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. Anything for a delay, Darcy thought.

“Seafood?” he said.

“You are a wiseass,” Darcy said.

“I’m from New York,” he said. “It’s natural.”

“I thought you were from Hell,” she said.

“One day, you’re going to change your mind about me,” he told her.

“Oh, of course, I’m sure I’ll realize you’re a real gem,” she said resentfully. He laughed.

“I’m a diamond in the rough,” he said. Darcy looked at him skeptically. 

 

***

Rumlow decided he finally had an angle with Lewis, after watching her at the aquarium. She was peering at a starfish when it dawned on him: Darcy Lewis was a little girl. Everything about her suggested it, from the way she was content with being Foster’s little helper to her ouija board hobbies and her attraction to safe, non-masculine men like Ian Boothby. Boothby looked like one of those teen magazine boys that Rumlow’s sister had collected obsessively when she was eleven or so. That seemed to be where Lewis was stuck. Half-woman, half-child. He could make use of that. She’d never graduated into a full-fledged independence, Brock thought. Emotionally, she took shit from people, which made him think she was scared of being alone. What did she want? He would bet money that she wanted someone to take care of her, indulge her, give her toys to play with. They were sitting at dinner when he smiled at her. “You want a drink?” he said.

“No,” she said.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said in his gentlest voice. “It’ll be okay, live a little.” Once she was relaxed, she’d let her guard down and he could ask questions.

“That’s all right,” she said, shaking her head.

“I’ll make sure you get home okay,” he told her, giving her permission to drink, if she wanted to.

“No thanks,” she said, “I’ll have a Diet Cherry Coke. Do you have Diet Cherry Coke?” she asked the waiter. Rumlow smirked. She was telling him just as much about herself ordering bubbly soft drinks and french fries as any liquor -fueled confession might. As they ate, he asked her innocent-sounding questions about her hobbies. “Why do you care if I like _hygge_ and adult coloring books?” she asked.

“No reason,” he said. “It’s nice to talk to people about things. I've been alone with my thoughts.”

“Just talk?” she said. “Not bargain for your soul?” Her voice was arch. He shook his head.

“I’m not actually the devil, I know that’s hard to believe with all this,” he said, gesturing to his face. Bingo. He saw her microexpression of guilt. She didn’t _want to hurt his feelings about his face._ “If I was the devil, I’d get my old, good face back,” he said as a test. She looked stymied. Good, he thought, excellent. A soft spot for the injured. “Don’t you like puppies?” he asked.

“I rescued some in New Mexico,” she said, looking grateful they’d changed subjects. She didn't realize she'd just given him another little piece.

“Lewis, I want to take you somewhere,” he said softly, after dinner.

“I’m not having sex with you,” she said.

“No,” he said. “I want to take you to a toy store.”

“Oh dear God,” she muttered. “I’m not doing _that_ with you, either.” He laughed when he realized she thought he meant sex toys.

“You poor, sad woman,” he said. “Get your sex-deprived mind out of the gutter.” Rumlow knew there was a suspicious silence from that bedroom. Based on Boothby's lack of affection and attention, he guessed there was a lack of thrills there.

 

He took her to an actual toy store. “Why?” she said, standing on the sidewalk in front of the store. He cupped her elbow to keep her from stumbling over the doorstep.

“Because you saved my life,” he said. “I want you to be happy. Also, your hobbies are much more wholesome than cocaine and guns, this is a cake walk for me.”

“Is that a HYDRA-specific anecdote?” she asked, but he saw how her eyes were drawn to a four foot high plush giraffe in the window.

“Did you want that? I’ll buy you that,” he whispered. “C’mon in, they’re about to close.”

“This is weird,” Darcy said. But she held her giraffe tightly all the way back home. He hid his smile.

 

He would play a paternalistic, doting, slightly overprotective role. Spoil her rotten. Every Little Girl needed a Daddy. Wanted a Daddy.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Darcy and Rumlow were sitting in her room, playing Trivial Pursuit, when Jane knocked. “Can you help me with something downstairs?” Jane asked.

“Sure,” Darcy said.

“Do you need me?” Rumlow asked.

“No,” Jane said bluntly.

“Awww, Jane, don’t hurt my feelings,” he replied, taking a fistful of popcorn and grinning.

 

Darcy followed Jane down to the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“I talked to Erik. He thinks Ian will be back soon,” Jane said.

“How soon?” Darcy asked. Erik had told them that Ian needed to gather ingredients for a spell to remove their too-human, too-clever ghost.

“Erik didn’t know,” Jane said. “He sent him to a friend in Finland.”

“I wish he would call,” Darcy said, sighing. If she didn’t trust Erik, she would have thought Rumlow had somehow meddled. It was like Ian was the ghost: they weren’t supposed to know too much about what Ian was up to, in case Rumlow could eavesdrop on them.

“What is he doing with you?” Jane said. Darcy shrugged.

“Just normal things,” she told Jane. That morning, they’d gone for coffee and walked around town, talking about things. He’d stopped and chatted with several people so Darcy could pet their dogs.

“Really?” Jane said.

“Yeah,” Darcy said.

“I guess you should go back up there, then?” Jane said. Darcy nodded, patted Jane’s shoulder, and headed back up. She didn’t--couldn’t--admit it to Jane, but Rumlow was actually not that unpleasant to be around, once she’d gotten used to him. He was often funny and if she hadn’t known about his past, she would have been charmed by his efforts to befriend her. He smiled when she opened her bedroom door.

“Ready to play again?” he asked.

“Sure.” Darcy never tried to give away anything about what Ian was up to with Erik.

“Great,” he said, “get over here, next to your giraffe.” He patted the bed. “You name him yet?”

“Nope, still deciding. Hit me with a card,” she said.

“Hhmmm,” he murmured. He had a habit of pressing his tongue against his lips in thought that she pretended not to notice.

 

He continued that pattern of paying attention on their walk the next day, even listened to her ramble about Nico and Velvet Underground and how certain songs reminded her of specific undergraduate papers. “I do not recommend writing any kind of essay to The Doors, it just puts you in a bad headspace,” Darcy announced. He laughed uproariously.

“Could that be why they’re in so many Vietnam movies?” he joked.

“Possibly,” Darcy said. They were headed for the coffee shop in town and to pick up Jane’s mail. It was a normal day, she thought. Was this her new normal? She looked at Rumlow. He smiled at her.

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Pastries with the coffee?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. His hand hovered near her back as they walked; he’d caught her on icy sidewalks and when she tripped several times. “What about your favorite thing?” Rumlow said.

“My favorite thing?” Darcy said, not following. She’d been thinking about his proximity, the way he was so focused on her. She wasn’t used to that. She was used to being--well, not being, but feeling like--a secondary character in her own life. Jane’s assistant, the comic relief, the one who was sometimes overlooked.

“As a name for your giraffe,” he said.

“Ohhh,” Darcy said. “I don’t think Coffee is a proper name for a giraffe.”

“I guess he’s more of a Geoffrey, huh?” Rumlow teased.

“You’re mocking me, but I’ll know it when I hear it,” she said.

“George?” he suggested.

“No, no, nothing that reminds me of Steinbeck,” she said.

“You wanna name him after me?” he said lightly.

“Brock?” she said. “Hmm. I’ll put it on my list. Where’d your name come from, anyway?”

“Yeah, you don’t meet a lot of Italian guys from the Bronx named Brock,” he said. He chuckled. “My Ma loves her soap operas. She wanted us to have unique names, so I’m named after a guy from one of them. _The Young and The Restless,_ maybe? My sister’s named Fallon.”

“Yeah?” Darcy said, delighted by the idea. Her mom had watched _Dynasty._

“You probably think that’s stupid,” he said, after a pause.

“Nooooooo,” she said. “It’s great. Besides, I’m named after Mr. Darcy, I can’t judge! That’s so much stuffier and everything. I wonder what soap character I could be named after?” she mused.

“I’m sure my mother could come up with something,” he said.

“Do you miss her?” Darcy said carefully.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, I mean---couldn’t we go see her?” she suggested. “Me and you, when we go back to the states?”

“You want to go see my mother?” he said, looking bemused.

“Well, no, I thought you could see her and I could just hang out in vicinity,” Darcy explained. “So, you could spend time together?”

“That would be real nice of you,” he said and went quiet. Darcy worried she’d overstepped, so she changed the subject.

“I bet I would like a soap name. I always wanted a more feminine name, like Sophie or Gabrielle,” Darcy said. She didn’t mind the nickname ‘Darce,’ but she didn’t love it, either. It had a sharp, flat sound. _Darce._

“Gabrielle?” he repeated. He looked at her skeptically, then started to laugh.

“What?” Darcy said.  

“You want to be called Sophie or Gabrielle?” he said.

“They’re soft names,” Darcy said. “Even if people wanted to call me ‘Soph’ or ‘Gabby,’ it would sound so much more….round? I don’t know, I’m not explaining it right.”

“Sure,” he said.

“I feel like something about me would be different if I’d been a Sophie Lewis,” she said.

“Really? How?” he said.

“Sophie Lewis is artistic or something? I just see her wearing her hair curly and having floaty skirts and making big paintings and being much more laidback than me. She’s special,” Darcy said.

“Lewis,” he said, stopping her on the sidewalk, “you _are_ special.”

“Having you for a ghostie doesn’t make me special,” she said, continuing to walk and shaking her head at the same time.

“I object to this,” he said, catching up with her. “I make everything more special.”

 

At the coffee shop, Rumlow asked her about more favorites for the giraffe plush. “Cheerio? Darcy said.

“Oh, that’s a proper name?” he asked, sitting across the table from her. His grin was wide. “I wasn’t aware Cheerio was a formal choice.”

“It’s fun to say. Cheerio! It’s the o-sound,” Darcy mused. He smirked even wider.

“You like making o-sounds?” he teased. “Does Ian know?”

“You be quiet,” she said, feeling herself turn pink.

“Sure,” he said. He got her two pastries. When he came back, he slid the plate across the table and started calling her “Sophie O.” with a wicked gleam in his eye. Darcy had no idea how to respond to that. But she decided that Cheerio was a great name for the giraffe.

He continued being charming all day, even when she changed the subject to Lana del Rey or got him to talk about New York. When they got home that afternoon, Rumlow flirted with her so wildly at lunch that Jane stared at him. “What are you doing?” Jane said bluntly. He’d teasingly flicked Darcy's hair when he got up to get her a drink.

“Jane!” Darcy said. Knowing she disapproved would only make him worse.

“We’re having fun, Foster. You remember fun,” he said smoothly.

“Stop,” Jane said.

“You are exceptionally straight-laced for a chick who picks up aliens in her spare time,” he said dryly. He looked at Darcy. “Should we stop, sweetheart? I think we’re making Jane _uncomfortable.”_

“Yes,” Darcy said, wishing she wasn’t so charmed by him. What was wrong with her today? She caught herself humming “Is This Happiness?” that afternoon, before she realized he was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“You want a hand with that, Soph?” he said, grinning.

 

***

“Sokovia?” Ian said. “You’re kidding. I can’t go to Sokovia!” He looked at the second friend that Erik had sent him to, an older woman who claimed to be a witch. Ian was skeptical. She looked like his great-aunt Violet, the one who’d gone daffy and taken in all those cats. She waved her arm at him. Her wrists jangled with bracelets.

“You must go to Sokovia!” she ordered. “You need these ingredients.” She passed him a handwritten list.

“Ye gods,” Ian muttered, looking at the length of it. “Sokovian mugwort and Ukranian rosemary?” he said.

“Son,” she said. “Buy a ticket.” Ian got his phone out and bought a plane ticket to Sokovia. The woman explained that there was a third person, a herbalist, who could help him. “Actually, it is a family of herbalists. Three sisters. The Zaretskys.”

“The Zaretsky sisters,” Ian repeated, nodding.

 

Irina Zaretsky was waiting when he went inside the shop. As he opened the door and the bell jangled, a beam of light caught her strawberry blonde hair. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “Hello,” Ian said. “I’m here on a quest.”

“A quest?” she said. Her voice was soft and warm.

“I’m looking for Irina?” he added more tentatively.

“That’s me,” she said, smiling. Ian’s heart stuttered. He wanted to begin, but the words, _I’m here to help my girlfriend--_ died in his throat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Is this Happiness?" is a Lana del Rey song, obvs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YMBYKVF-LU
> 
> The chorus seems super-appropriate for Ian's shenanigans, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Second update for this weekend. Don’t miss yesterday’s chapter 5.

The three Zaretsky sisters were all extraordinarily beautiful, but Ian couldn’t take his eyes off Irina. He stayed with them for several days, learning how to assemble the ingredients for the spell that the woman in Finland had given him. They were drying and preparing herbs at a long table at the back of the shop.  “Remember that your intentions matter,” Victoria Zaretsky told him carefully. Dragging his eyes away from Irina, Ian nodded.

“Intentions matter,” Ian said automatically. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m new at this.”

“Yes,” Irina said, smiling gently. Ian blushed. He missed the other two sisters glance at each other significantly. Even they could sense the chemistry between their sister and this British man.

“It is unfortunate that he has a girlfriend,” Yulia whispered to Victoria, once they’d stepped away from the table. She shrugged.

“He will return once the ghost is vanquished, you can see it in his eyes,” Victoria said calmly. “It pains him to even say the name of this other woman in front of Irina. He is utterly lost.”

“I hope this does not harm the spell,” Yulia said fretfully. Magic, real magic, could be quite delicate.

“He is so inexperienced, I cannot see where it will go astray,” Victoria said, studying Ian as he chatted with Irina across the room. They were hanging lavender together. “It is not as if his magic could be so strong.” When she looked away, Irina blushed at Ian’s beaming smile.

“Irina,” Ian said, suddenly emboldened by the color in her face.

“Yes?”

“Well, I--I--have to do this for Darcy, I owe her that much,” Ian said. “We’ve been together for years, I care, but I’m--I don’t love her like I really could love someone.” He’d lowered his voice to a whisper and even his own face was surprised as the words came out. He glanced at the table as if he expected to see them sitting there, amongst the herbs.

“Oh,” Irina said, her fingers going still.

“I realize that now. What I’m saying, I guess, is that once this is over, once she’s safe and all,  could I--could I come back to see you?” he said quietly.

“I would like that,” she said.

He took the ingredients--carefully labeled with the shop’s information--and packed them in his carry-on that evening. He was standing in his room when Irina entered. “Hi,” Ian said.

“Your flight leaves in the morning,” she said softly.

“Yes,” Ian said. Irina shut the door. She had fallen utterly for Ian Boothby. She wanted him to be sure of her feelings. “Oh,” he said, when she kissed him. “Oh.”

 

*** 

In the house in Sweden, Jane watched Rumlow and Darcy leave in the morning. They were walking along happily. Jane hoped he suspected nothing. She was picking Ian up from the airport in an hour. He’d called and whispered down the phone line that everything was ready. They were doing the spell at the house. He was bringing the ingredients. Jane hadn’t even told Darcy he was coming today. That was safer, she thought. She didn’t want Rumlow to do something crazy, like kidnap Darcy.

She waited the appropriate amount of time and then called a cab. Jane had already cleared a circle in the living room. Doing it at home would apparently make the spell stronger, since he’d been summoned here, too. It was like completing an electrical circuit, she thought. “Complete the circle, get him out of our lives,” Jane said out loud. 

 

As the train rattled along, Brock had time to wonder. He thought Jane was up to something. She’d looked too canny before they left the house. But Boothby hadn’t returned yet, so he felt safe. He glanced at Darcy as they sat on the train. “Soph,” he said softly, making the name a caress. He playfully touched her cheek. She turned her head.

“Why do you do that? Call me by my alias?” she said.

“Because you like it,” he said, tapping her nose. He’d been making sure to touch her teasingly and stay close. Closeness and playfulness were nine-tenths of intimacy. Especially when you’d been as thoroughly overlooked as she was. It was stunning to him that she was so easy to charm. She was a beautiful girl, he’d thought more than once, so why hadn’t she tossed Boothby aside and replaced him with someone more attentive? Was she that loyal? Well, all the better for his success.

“I like it?” she said archly.

“You’re half in love with me,” he teased. He’d thought they were close to a moment last night. He’d brought her a snack and a book in bed and she’d looked as if she wanted to kiss him. He needed to create more of those moments while Boothby was still gone.

“I have a boyfriend, remember?” Darcy told him.

“Sure,” he said. “You can keep him. I’m not threatened.” Darcy laughed.

“Just how to do you see this going?” she asked. There was a note of pure curiosity in her tone.

“We stay together for the rest of our lives,” he said breezily. “It’ll be very fun. You, me, and Cheerio.”

“What about Ian? Darcy said.

“He can sleep in the attic,” Brock said.

“Whaaaat?” Darcy said.

“He’s a terrible snuggler and I’m damn good at it, as you know,” he told her.

“That was exploitative of you,” she said, trying to look serious. “You tricked me!”

“Wasn’t it a good trick? Tell me you didn’t enjoy it and I’ll remind you of how delighted you were with Boothby, huh,” he said. “The truth is, I’m a good buffer for you.”

“A buffer?” she said, frowning.

“You are a soft person, a feelings person, surrounded by testy, sharp-edged science types,” he said. “Assholes, basically.” She made a noise of dismay.

“That’s not--” Darcy began. Rumlow grinned and held up a finger.

“Sure, it’s true. So, they don’t respect your humanities acumen and your knowledge and nurturing tendencies because that’s the antithesis of all their ‘I’m a scientist, I do logic, I don’t have time to treat other people well’ academic culture bullshit. But I see you,  I do,” he said. “People like you have value.” He smiled at her. “But you get burned out if you don’t have protection. That’ll be my job.”

“You decided, huh?” she said.

“I’m very good at protecting things,” he said.

“Doesn’t that just make you the asshole?” she said.

“Yes. Guess where we’re going today?” he asked.

“The aquarium again?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

“It’s a surprise,” he teased. “But I’ll take you to the aquarium, too.” When they got off the train, he took her a chocolate shop.

“Chocolate?” she said.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said. “Sit here, I’ve gotta run an errand. Try some of these,” he said, pointing out the truffles at the little bar. He looked back as he got to the door. She was smiling in delight and ordering a hot cocoa. She looked back at him and he winked.

 

Once he'd left, Darcy picked up her phone in the chocolate shop and called Jane. Her phone went straight to voicemail. Weird, Darcy thought. She started talking. “Jane, I just wanted to tell you to tell Ian to stop the plan. I don’t want to send Brock away--not yet, anyway. We need to talk. It’s hard to explain, but I should tell you in person. I’m at a chocolate place. Do you want chocolate?” Darcy said. “I’ll get you chocolate, okay? I know you’ll be mad, but I can’t send him back there--I just _can’t.”_

She had no way of knowing that Jane and Ian were returning from the airport and getting ready to prepare the spell. Jane had left her phone in her room while she puzzled over the instructions for the mugwort.

  

She was still waiting when Brock re-entered the chocolate shop. “Where’d you go?” Darcy said to him. Brock noticed that she had a tiny smudge of whipped cream on her lip.

“Got a present for Cheerio,” he said. He’d used the machine at the pet supply store nearby to make a tag that said the giraffe’s name and bought a collar, too. He handed her a bag. “Open it,” Rumlow said, grinning. Her face lit up when she saw it.

“You bought my giraffe his own name tag?” she said, sounding delighted. “Brock, this is adorable.”

“I try,” he said wryly. He let his eyes  linger on her mouth. It wasn’t difficult. She had a good mouth, a sexy mouth: her upper lip was fuller than the bottom, habitually painted with pink or red lipstick, and she tended to press her teeth against her bottom lip when she was thinking. He focused in, smiled. She looked up at him and her eyes went wide.

“Brock,” she said, inhaling, “we can’t--” He leaned in closer.  It was just the two of them here.

“Who says we can’t?” he asked, his mouth less than an inch from hers. “Somebody’s gonna stop you from kissing me if you want? Do you?” he asked. “Want to kiss me?”

“You have to stop getting me--getting me all distracted,” she whispered.

“I bet you taste like chocolate,” he said. He saw the eagerness flickering in her eyes before she tamped it down.

“Ian,” she said, looking pained and guilty. She turned her head for a second and he eased back, noticing the flush on her neck.

“I won’t ask you to give him up,” he said. “All the kids are polyamorous now, aren’t they?” He grinned and she swatted at his chest. He captured her hand as it rested against his heart. He held it there. “I just want to give you things, sweetheart. You saved me from Vormir.”

“Stop that,” she said, pulling her hand away. “I’m going to get another hot cocoa.”

“Why shouldn’t you have two boyfriends, honey?” he called, as she walked to the register.

"People just don't do that!" she called back. 

"We're not regular people," he reminded her.

  

The scientist and the second intern had readied everything at the house. “How do we do this?” Jane asked. She looked at Ian. They’d drawn a chalk circle on the kitchen floor, assembled their ingredients, and were using a hot plate and a bowl as makeshift cauldron on the table. It bubbled and Jane looked at it nervously.

“You have to believe,” Ian told her. “No doubt in the circle, Jane.”

“I have been Asgard and seen things no other woman has seen,” Jane said loftily. “Magic is just science by another name.”

“Well, then,” Ian said. He unfolded a piece of paper. “These are the words, we have to say them together---” he passed Jane the sheet. “It does sound a bit like dodgy Shakespeare,” Ian admitted.

“I’ve seen this before,” Jane said excitedly. “In a book in the palace library. Thor said iambic pentameter spell forms may have come from elemental magic. Or that there’s a root similarity?” Her voice was intrigued.

“You want to practice once outside the circle?” Ian said. “That third line’s tricky. I keep reversing dragon’s scale and wolf’s snarl,” he admitted. Jane nodded.

 _“So by my will…”_ Jane read aloud. The cauldron bubbled with an ominous-sounding plop.

 

 

Darcy was looking out the train window on the trip back home when she saw something strange. She leaned against the edge of the glass so she could look ahead. “Does the sky look weird to you?” she said. Brock looked up, suddenly alert, as he peered over her shoulder. “That black cloud right over the train, three cars up?” Darcy added.

“Get back,” he hissed, pulling her away from the window. He seized Darcy’s hand and began dragging her down the aisle. “We need to move now!” Rumlow said sharply.

“What is it?” Darcy said. She looked around and realized they were suddenly the only ones on the train. It rattled emptily, like something in a horror movie. “Brock, what is it?” Darcy asked again.

“One of Hela’s portals,” he said. His jaw was tight. The scars stood out against the newfound paleness of his skin. “This must be her magic. It’s going to suck me back there, back to Vormir,” he told her.

“Let’s go, then,” she said. They climbed into the next car and the next. He was sprinting and she hurried to keep up. Suddenly, Rumlow stopped and looked around. Everything seemed noisier. The train was creaking and rocking.  “Do we hit the emergency cord?” Darcy yelled.

“I don’t know,” he said.  He looked between her and the next car. “I have no fucking idea what to do,” he said.

“Keep moving!” Darcy said. They went through another set of doors and Darcy practically ran into his back. He had frozen again. They’d reached the end of the cars. He pried the door open. The train was speeding and jolting along.

“We have to jump!” Darcy yelled.

“You’d never make it,” he said. The air around them had already picked up, swirling like a storm. “The fall could kill you!” he yelled. He looked over her shoulder and his expression went even more slack. Darcy looked back. A dark, visible void had opened up in the train. Rumlow seemed to shake himself. He let go of Darcy’s hand.

“Don’t!” Darcy said.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said. “She wants me back, she gets me back!”

“No!” Darcy yelled. He was walking towards the void when she grabbed his hand again, yanking him backwards. She intended to pull them both back. She didn’t anticipate the void to close around both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW warning for the next chapter: I should mention again that my headcanon for dead people on Vormir was partially inspired by seeing clips of this supernatural/metaphorical Alaskan wilderness movie where Frank Grillo is one of Liam Neeson's costars. So....ahhhhh, big mood, you're warned?
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgaPECmyrdY


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Content warnings in the next few chapters for implied death and some gruesomeness. A bitty reminder: the in-verse rules for Vormir is that the dead live in a survivalist nightmare, die, and wake up again in the morning. Like Groundhog Day, if it was the wilderness. Sorta.

“What did you do?” Jane screamed at Ian, pushing him. He looked baffled. 

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I don’t understand.” They were standing at the train station. Darcy had never gotten off the train. She wasn’t answering her phone.

“Well, we need to fucking figure it out,” Jane said furiously. “I’m calling Erik. You call that herbalist.”

“All right,” Ian said nervously. He dialed with trembling fingers. She answered with a breathy hello. “Irina,” Ian said. “Where is my--Darcy? She’s disappeared, too.”

“Oh, Ian,” Irina said, voice like velvet, “you didn’t!”

“What do you mean?” Ian said.

“Your subconscious intentions,” she said.

“W-whha?” he stammered.

“Your subconscious intentions weren’t pure, Ian,” Irina scolded gently. “You sent them both away. With them tethered together, she is likely where he is. In Vormir.”

“No,” Ian said, stomach sinking. When he hung up the phone, Jane looked at him sharply. 

“What did she say?” Jane asked. “Erik wants to assemble a group--” she lowered her voice. “A coven. What did she say?” Jane repeated.

“That it’s my fault,” Ian said. “They’re both on Vormir. Because I’m in love with Irina.”

 

The edges of Jane’s vision turned a little red.

  
  


***

Darcy woke up with a gasp, screaming. She was covered in snow. She was flailing when she heard Brock’s voice. “Darcy!” he yelled.

“Brock!” she screamed, clawing at the snow. A moment later, he was digging her out. 

“You okay?” he said, looking at her for injuries. “No bleeding?” he asked. She shook her head.

“I panicked--panicked in the snow,” she said.

“I don’t see anything,” he said. 

“This is Vormir?” she said, looking around. She shivered. Everything around them was white and white and white.

“You’re going to freeze, I need to get you to the cave,” he said.

“The cave?” Darcy said, teeth chattering. 

“Yeah,” he said. He dragged her, stumblingly, through the snow and trees. The snow was so high, it was difficult to walk. He seemed to know where they were going. They were trekking along when she heard the first howls. 

“Is that--is that Hela’s wolves?” she whispered.

“They’re far away,” he said. “C’mon, I need to get you warm.” They seemed to walk forever. It got dark. The howls got closer. He made her walk closer to him.

“This is where you live?” Darcy said, once they’d found the cave and he’d started a fire and draped her with blankets and furs. He was inventorying the items left inside. 

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve still got everything that was here when I left.” He added more wood to the fire and it crackled. “This is good shelter,” he told her.

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed. She was terrified. Looking at the cave, she realized this was no place for her. She wouldn’t survive this. She wasn’t one of the undead. The Sisyphean wake-up rules probably didn’t apply to her, she thought, looking at her cold hands. She thought about that all night. She couldn’t sleep. Brock snored gently beside her and she cried.

 

Somewhere in the dark, wolves howled.

  
  


“What is it?” Rumlow said in the morning. She’d woken up feeling frozen and hopeless.

“I’m going to die here, aren’t I?” Darcy said, eyes welling with tears.

“No,” he said. “Don’t fall apart. I’m keeping you alive. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

“How?” Darcy said.

“I just need to keep you alive until Foster can bring us back,” Brock told her. “She’s looking for you. She won’t lose you, as long as I can protect you, all right?”

“All right,” Darcy said.

“Trust Jane,” he told her seriously.

“I trust you, too,” Darcy told him. He looked at her funny. It was difficult not to spiral into terror and depression in Vormir. It had the remote, unreal quality of a nightmare forest in a fairytale. Rumlow insisted that she couldn’t go into the larger settlements with him to trade, if they had to stay longer. 

“I don’t know how people will respond to you,” he said grimly and didn’t elaborate. Darcy nodded. “But I need to go set lines,” he said.

“Set lines?” Darcy said. 

“Ice fishing,” he told her. 

“Can I go?” she asked. She didn’t want to be alone in the cave. He nodded and made her wear some of the blankets as a cape for warmth. The ice fishing was treacherous work. They hiked to lake and he punched holes on the ice with a tool. She was scared he would fall in. He’d told her that if he did, she was to do nothing; he’d come back in a day. She just needed to find her way back to shelter without running into anyone or anything. 

“You leave immediately,” he told her sternly. “If I die--especially if I’m bleeding, you fucking run, you got that?” he said. 

“Okay,” Darcy said.

“Don’t hang around with me, things could show up. They like human blood best. I don’t think the rules apply to you. I need you to live,” he said more softly. She nodded.

 

Over the next few days, Darcy tried to learn everything she could to survive. How he found materials for the fire, clean water, fished, even killed deer. She tried to be helpful. It was gruesome and off-putting--she gagged more than once as he disassembled the deer. He looked at her. “Sorry, Soph, no vegetarianism here. I haven’t had enough warm weather for produce,” Rumlow said wryly.

“How’d you know Sophie’s a vegetarian?” Darcy asked, gagging. She’d probably stop eating meat back home, she thought. The deer had such soft, sweet-looking eyes.

“Seemed like a safe bet, the way you looked at Bambi here,” he said. He was catching the blood from the deer’s poor, hanging body with a pan. He’d told her that never cleaned them near the cave, either. “This is so we don’t attract attention,” he explained. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said, certain she would starve to death if something happened to him. Or freeze.

“You’ll be all right,” he told her.

  
  


They were trudging through the snow one evening, going back to the cave, when the howling started. Rumlow stopped. It was near, Darcy realized. “What do we do?” she whispered, horrified. 

“Shhh,” he said, scanning the horizon. “We won’t make it back in time. You see that tree? You’re gonna climb that and I’ll lead them away, all right?” 

“Lead them--”

“Don’t argue,” he said, physically dragging her to the tree and forcing her up into the branches. “Just hang the fuck on,” he said, making her a rope to tie as an extra stabilizer. He cut the length of it and passed it up to her. “Stay up there until they move away and then get your ass to the cave and keep warm,” he said bluntly. “If I’m not back tonight, I’m back at dawn.” Then he disappeared into the trees.

  
  
  


Brock moved into the treeline, running as hard as he could. He wanted distance between himself and Darcy for what he knew was about to happen. If she panicked at the sounds and bolted, the immature wolves could run her down and devour her. Would she come back if she died? He couldn’t risk it. She was his way out of here. His only way. Foster would come for her.  He’d been running for at least a mile when he slowed and heard the rustling behind him. They’d followed him, he realized. “Excellent,” Brock said. “Come and get me, assholes,” he called out. The wolves melted out of the shadows, snarling. At this age, they were only slightly larger than regular wolves, but absolutely fearless and supernaturally intelligent. When he’d learned that he could climb to avoid them, he’d taken to watching their patterns. He took a deep breath, willing himself not to scream, so Darcy wouldn’t be afraid. He could make this faster, he thought, glancing at his knife. He pulled it out and cut a deep gash into his arm. Bleeding into the snow, he gestured to spread the scent. The wolves moved in, beckoned by the warm liquid dripping from his arm, and he whistled. “Come on, Lassie, you hungry, you motherfucker?” he called.

 

Darcy waited, trembling in terror, until she heard it. The sounds. She never heard him scream. Just the sounds of the wolves snarling and fighting, as it echoed through the trees. She started to sob. She was up in the tree, still shaking, two hours later when the wolves moved by. She climbed down, taking the rope with her, snot running out of her nose, and walked carefully back to the cave. When she looked around the empty space, she burst into tears. Mechanically, she stoked the fire and then tucked herself inside a blanket, still crying. What if he didn’t come back?

 

More than anything she’d ever wanted in her life, she wanted him to come back. She tried to rest, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the noise. It had been horrible. The sounds of him silently dying. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! TW: more Vormir nightmarish stuff, also earning our M-rating with a sex scene in the last section

“I need to find Thor,” Jane said to Erik, interrupting the bickering coven. Several of Erik’s friends, the Karetsky sisters, and even Fury and Hill had descended on the house. Now they were all talking over one another. Jane was wild with rage at Ian for failing to mention his obvious besottedness with Irina Karetsky before they’d cast the spell.

“He is in space,” Erik said.

“Why do you know where he is even when I don’t?” Jane fumed.

“He’s in space?” Fury said. He looked thoughtful. “I might have a resource,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his long jacket speculatively.

“You want to help Darcy?” Jane said quietly, surprised.

“I would also like to apprehend Brock Rumlow’s ass, if he's running around in my universe,” Fury said. Jane nodded in understanding as Fury brought out a small, dark rectangle.

“Is that a pager?” Erik said.

“Yes,” Fury said. “It is.”

 

Somewhere in space, a woman received a message instructing her to send “Thor of ASG” to Fury. “I've never heard of a planet called ASG?” Carol Danvers said. She looked at the Raccoon tinkering on a workbench. “You ever heard of Thor?”

“I’ll make a call,” Rocket said. “I got people.”

 

***

Darcy was still awake at dawn, when he came wearily up to the cave entrance. She scrambled up and ran, certain she was hallucinating. “Ow,” he said, when she connected with his body with a thump. When she felt how solid he was, she started to cry again.

“You’re alive, you’re alive,” she said, babbling.

“Told you I’d be back,” he said. “I’m tired, though.” She walked with him back to the fire. He seemed to find her behavior amusing. “You feeling me up?” he said, as she ran her hands over him, looking for injuries.

“I--I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “I--I heard Brock.” His expression shifted. “You never screamed,” she told him. “How could--why didn’t you scream?”

“I didn’t want you to be afraid,” he said. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on until he grumbled and made her let go so he could “do some work, not just sit around while you cry, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” Darcy said.

 

That was just the first time that week. The wolves seemed to be targeting them. “Are they after me?” Darcy asked, when they’d neared the two of them a second and then a third time. They’d managed to flee the animals those times. But they’d been trapped again on the fifth day.

“I dunno,” Rumlow said. “Could be.” He looked grim. He took the knife out of his belt and left her waiting on a higher slope, shielded by some large rocks. "Stay here," he said. She watched as he slid down the snow covered hill into the clearing. The wolves were on the other side.  She closed her eyes and listened to him die again. It was even more horrific up close. He'd practically run straight at them and then been buried under the writhing masses of snapping, snarling wolves. He never screamed---she couldn’t understand how he was so brave--but she could still hear them. The eating sounds. His flesh shredding, bones snapping as they chewed. Darcy couldn’t stand it. It made her want to crawl out of her skin. She wept silently until the wolves went away. She had been trapped there, listening, for several hours.  Darcy tried not to look at the bloodied, pulpy spot in her peripheral vision. _His body,_ her brain repeated, _his body. She needed to keep hiding, keep moving. That was what he would tell her._

 

When he came back again in the morning, she held him tightly. “I think I actually stabbed one of the motherfuckers this time, big day for me,” he said wryly. But she couldn't stop weeping, wet choking sobs on his shoulder. “It’s okay, it's okay,” he repeated. She looked at him through her tears. "Darcy, I'm okay," he said, cupping her face. He was trying to reassure her. No matter what horrors happened, he was always trying to keep her together. Darcy leaned up and pressed her mouth against his, breathing softly. He was still for a second before he started kissing her back.

They were pawing at each other on the floor of the cave when he stopped her. “Ian, Darcy,” he said. “Ian.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered, hands on his bare, scarred chest where she had pushed up his shirt to touch him, to make sure he was real and there with her. “I want you. I need you,” she told him. His expression turned intense. He leaned down to suck on her top lip and she fumbled for the button on his fly.

It was hasty and impulsive. He’d yanked away her pants and was on top of her within moments. “Uhhhh,” Darcy gasped, mouth pressed against his sweaty, scarred neck. He pushed into her with force, more eagerly than she’d been expecting. It had been months since she’d had sex and Ian wasn’t this strong. Darcy was pinned between Rumlow and the blankets on the floor, rocked with each thrust. She felt the weight of him, his body a wall of muscle and warmth. “Oh God,” she moaned. She ached. The mixture of pleasure and pain and the feeling of being trapped under him made her feel slightly panicked. She dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Brock,” she said. “I need--” she said, wriggling. He read her unease, gripped her body, and lifted her in one fluid motion.

“Switch, switch,” he said in an intense voice. He kissed her urgently as they shifted positions. Seconds later, the trapped feeling was gone and she was sitting on top of him. “Better?” he said. His hands were slightly rough and calloused, dragging across her thighs to spread her legs wider.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “This is a good--good angle,” she gasped, as she settled onto him and began to move gently.

“Uhhh,” he grunted. He held her, strong hands digging into her hips, as she moved jerkily.

“You feel so good,” she gasped out. She already wasn’t in control of herself, not fully, when he pressed his thumb against her nipple. His grip was possessive and heavy, not tentative. It sent a jolt of pleasure through her to be touched like that.

“You like that?” he asked. She nodded. The feeling was so intense, she’d closed her eyes. He dug in and twisted her nipple, applying more force.

“Oh God,” she choked out, shuddering around him and crumpling forward as she came. She lay there for a moment, heart beating wildly. Then she opened her eyes. Brock was watching her.

“You and me,” he whispered, eyes locked on her face. She nodded. He leaned up to kiss her again. His lips tasted like sweat.

"Don't forget Cheerio," she said. She felt his fingers tangle in her hair, as he cupped the back of her head.

"I won't." He flexed his hips slightly, still inside her. “You wanna go again?” he said.

“Yes,” Darcy stuttered. 

She begged him not to leave the next morning. “Stay,” Darcy asked, when he tried to get up. He shook his head.

“How are you gonna live without water, sweetheart? You can’t survive on sex alone,” he teased.

“I can’t stand it, Brock, I can’t,” Darcy said, not letting go of him. He looked at her wryly.

“I feel like this is half genuine concern and half you liking to ride my cock,” he said.

“How can you make jokes like that?” she said, horrified. He grinned.

“I haven’t had sex since I died, I’m in a damn good mood,” he told her. “Now let me up, princess.”

“It’s not like that,” she insisted. "It's horrible, hearing that happen to you." He kissed her lightly.

"I know," he said.

 

Brock went out to check the lines and then came immediately back to her. He thought it was safer if Darcy stayed near shelter, if there was something about her that attracted supernatural attention. It troubled him that the wolves were circling them. He hated leaving her alone, too. All he had were shitty choices. He didn't know how Hela would react to her presence. And he didn't want the faction around Red Skull--who hated him as a traitor--finding out that she was here, either. She was a soft target, easily hurt. And he was out of bargaining chips, either in information or physical intimidation. Powerless. There was nothing he could give in exchange for her life. Someone could take her just to have, as a novelty. The human girl on Vormir. It made him tense to imagine the kinds of interest that would draw, that she could get closer to death than anyone. Schmidt might see that as beguiling. He was that kind of a man.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he got back. She was sitting by the fire. But it was obvious she’d been crying, he thought, surprised by the feeling of jealousy deep in his gut when the obvious cause dawned on him as he trekked up to her. She looked up at him with sad eyes.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he told her. He sat next to her and began to scale. “We don’t have to tell him when we get back,” he said, meaning Boothby.

“What?” she said.

“Ian,” he said. “You been crying. I’ll cover for you, say whatever you want me to say, he doesn’t need to know anything.” She stared at him. “I won’t tell him we fucked,” he said bluntly.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “That’s what you think I’m worried about?”

“Isn’t that what’s got you all bent out of shape? Guilt?” he said.

“I’m worried about you,” she said.

“Me?” he said, incredulous.

“You told me before--before that you’d only been caught twice when you were alone,” she said, voice cracking. “I’ve only been here a week, Brock!”

“So?” he said. “I don’t follow.”

“It’s me, I’m slowing you down or something?” Darcy said. “I’ve gotten you killed twice.” He looked at her in astonishment. “I--I just feel like if we’re stuck here, I’m no use,” she said. "I'm actually hurting you."

“Bullshit,” he said.

“What if Jane can’t get us back? Aren’t you better off without me?” she said.

“Shut up and stop wallowing,” he said bluntly. “You think I enjoyed being alone? Talking to myself? I like having you around.”

“Oh,” she said. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Get over here and help me scale these fish, then, if you wanna feel useful.” She slid over and he passed her a knife.

“This is so gross,” Darcy said.

“Don’t cut yourself,” he said sternly, as he watched her work. The knife skipped when Darcy tried to apply pressure and she barely missed her thumb. “Give me that,” Brock grumbled. “I’m taking you off fish scaling.”

“Sorry,” Darcy said. He grinned at her.

“Your wilderness survival skill is clearly sex,” he told her teasingly. “You’re very good at that.”

“How is that a wilderness survival skill?” Darcy said.

“The creation of body heat is a very important ability,” he said. He leaned in for a kiss, but was surprised by the intensity of her response. She kissed him so eagerly that he relaxed his grip on his knife, stopped moving. When they broke apart, her expression was serious.

“I worry about you,” she whispered again, nuzzling his face.

“Stop,” he said. “It doesn’t do any good. We’re getting out of here, all right?”

“Okay,” she said, leaning against his shoulder.

“You realize that without you, all I have is an eternity of doing this by myself,” he said, digging out the fish’s spine. “Just me and the goddamn fish and none of it means anything, it’s just an endless cycle of dying and dying.”

“Samsara,” Darcy said.

“Huh?” Brock said.

“Hindu cycle of death and rebirth because of karmic debt,” she said. “It’s a negative state of being. Like being turned on a wheel or a rack, spiritually-speaking?”

“See, I don’t know shit like that,” he said wryly. “But that’s what I’m trying to get out of, so I can go back to have coffee with you, got it?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“What do you want to tell Boothby when we get back, huh?” he asked musingly.”That his services are no longer necessary?” His voice was arch. He wanted to be there when she told Boothby to fuck off. He could make a nice exception for Foster, if she rescued them, but Boothby was extraneous to his plans for the two of them. He’d realized in a split-second of jealousy that he couldn’t--wouldn’t--share.

“I dunno,” she said, “how are you going to explain your presence to your mother?”

“Oh, that’s good, princess, that’s very good,” he said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

Darcy woke up shaking. Brock was wrapping her in another blanket, looking serious. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” he asked.

“C--c-cold,” she said. He sighed. Cold was at least better than hot. Paradoxically, you felt fucking warm at the end stages of hypothermia, when you were near death. It had started to snow more overnight. Vormir’s seasons were limited to cold, more cold, and blizzard. He added wood to the fire and moved it closer before they went to bed and again this morning, hoping the cave opening’s slight overhang was enough to prevent it from going out in the snow.

“Temperatures are dropping,” he said, shedding his heavy outer coat. He was going to wrap her in it.

“N-n-no,” Darcy said. She shook her head, teeth clattering. “D-d--don’t w-want you to freeze,” she said. He rolled his eyes.

“I freeze, I come back, goddammit,” he said. “You don’t. Take the fucking coat while I build this up some more,” he said, meaning the fire. “You need to stop being such a fucking martyr, you know that? Be a little selfish, protect yourself.”

“I-I th-thought y-you were s-selfish enough for b-both of us,” Darcy said. He glared at her and pointed.

“Cut it out,” he said. “No being cute, this is serious fucking business.” He’d never had to worry about the true consequences of freezing to death before. He’d frozen to death once--regained consciousness too far into hypothermia to do shit about it but lie there and die--but of course, he was right back the next day. He added more wood and built the fire as large as he dared. He was torn between the need to keep her warm and keep her hidden--from the wolves, Hela, anyone.

 

He’d built the fire to a crackling peak and then crawled back down into the bedding with her. “How you feeling now?” he said.

“Take your coat again,” she said, sounding improved. Her color was better.

“How many times I gotta tell you,” he grumbled.

“All the times,” she said, pushing it at him. He put it on, but pulled her underneath the edges. “How are you still so warm?” she asked, her face against his neck. The edge of her knit cap was ticklish.

“HYDRA serums,” he said. It took a severe drop in temps to kill him. “When the weather breaks, I’m going to elevate the bed,” he said. “What do you want to do when we get out of here?” He stroked her face. “Hot chocolate?” he suggested.

“I should have appreciated that hot chocolate more,” she said. She looked at him with sad, frightened eyes. “And Cheerio never got his present, Brock.” They still had that with them. It had been in her messenger bag when she got sucked into the portal.

“I’m sure Jane’s taking care of him,” he said.

“She can’t even feed herself,” Darcy joked weakly. She had tears in her eyes, Brock saw.

“We’ll get him back and we’ll get you more chocolate,” he said, with more certainty than he truly felt. Brock was tired, too. “Then what do you want to do?” he asked.

“Let’s run away somewhere warm,” Darcy said, looking over her shoulder past the fire and out into the snow. “I fucking hate snow.”

“Amen, baby,” he said. They stayed awake talking and kissing. He let her ramble about warm islands and beaches, enjoying the sound of her voice.

“I want a giant bowl fettuccine alfredo and a really long bath,” she said to him quietly. It was a fantasy, he knew. He’d had plenty of them when he was alone here: he’d daydreamed about hot showers and soap and a girl he’d dated before the Uprising.

“We can make it a date,” he said to the girl in front of him.

“You don’t even eat carbs,” she told him.

“I can make a celebratory exception,” he said, tracing a finger over the Cupid’s bow of her lips.

 

***

“Good news,” Fury said. “You don’t have to go to Vormir on your own.”

“What?” Jane asked, jerking up from a grimoire that one of the witches had brought to the house. She’d been looking for spells to take with her before she got into a portal to Vormir. No one seemed to want her to do it, but she was fucking going, if she had to pack kitchen knives and fighting spells from a Sovokian herbalist. Jane was never so fearless as when she felt her own failure. She’d failed Darcy. She’d stood by, as Ian withheld information--relevant information!--and Rumlow wormed his way into Darcy’s life...

“My friend with the pager was able to make contact with Thor on a ship called _The Statesman._ They were already ferrying Asgard’s refugees to Norway, your ex is planetside and surprisingly close,” Fury said. “Should be here in--”

 

There was a roll of thunder.

 

“Now,” Jane said. She stood up and went out the front door. There was someone in an eyepatch standing on the lawn talking to Ian. Loki was next to them. For a second, Jane thought it was someone else and her heart sank. “Thor?” she said. He turned.

“Jane,” he said, immediately jogging over. He looked concerned.

“I thought--I thought for a second you’d sent someone else,” she said, touching her own hair reflexively.

“New haircut,” he said, looking sheepish. “Wasn’t my idea.”

“It looks nice,” Jane said, momentarily uncertain of the social mores when you talked to your ex in an emergency.

“The eyepatch isn’t half bad, either,” Fury said, from behind her. “Not as good as some people’s, but it’s all right.”

“I would call it adequate,” Loki said, shimmering up closer to Thor. “Who has misplaced Darcy? Will I be able to kill them?” He grinned back at Ian, who was hurrying to the door, in a way that suggested he knew exactly who had cast the spell. He’d always been oddly fond of Darcy, at least after he’d stopped trying to invade Earth.

“It’s my fault,” Jane said, sighing.

“Surely not,” Thor said.

“Come inside,” Jane said.

“Someone’s still biased, I see,” Loki said in a low voice.

 

Once they’d all assembled in the living room, Jane began to haltingly list all her mistakes. “Oh, for all the aesir,” Loki interrupted, somewhere around Sokovian mugwort, “what madness is this? You put _him_ in charge of a spell to send someone to my sister’s realm?” He gestured to Ian disdainfully. “He is a clod of the first order.” Ian shrugged. He did feel like one at the moment.

“I was stupid,” Jane admitted.

“Jane,” Thor said tenderly, as she started to weep. But to his surprise, it was Loki who held his arms out for Jane. She crumpled into his embrace.

“I’m--I’m so glad you’re here!” Jane said.

“We will find her,” Loki said. “Please refrain from getting snot on my jacket, it is Gucci.”

“Is he a witch?” Irina whispered to Ian.

“I am not,” Loki said, looking down at where Jane had her face in his tie and wrinkling his nose. He looked up at Thor and mouthed some words.

“I thought you didn’t want to do Get Help any longer?” Thor said teasingly.

“Not Get Help, _help me,”_ he muttered. “She is more distressed than I anticipated.”

 

***

Darcy watched as Brock split more firewood once the cold snap’s storms had passed. “I gotta figure out how to make you a bed off the ground,” he said, “so you’ll be warmer.”

They were lucky, Brock told her, that the fires hadn’t attracted any undue attention. He’d been waiting on Hela to pay them a visit, but for all her portals she remained oddly absent.

“How do we do that without nails?” Darcy said. She hadn’t told him her growing suspicion that Jane and Ian, not Hela, were probably responsible for their predicament.

“That is a good fucking question,” Brock said. Darcy sighed. ”Don’t,” he said aggressively.

“What?” she said.

“You got a sad sack attitude,” he said. “I leave you alone for five minutes, you start spiraling. We aren’t gonna do that shit anymore.”

“What, are you my survivalist coach or something?” Darcy said, sniffling at a hunk of cooked meat. “I’m already eating the deer!”

“Venison, baby,” he said, grinning. He dropped the axe and walked over to her. “That’s venison.” He cupped her face with his hands, then jerked his chin towards the blankets.

“Seriously? I’m all dirty and just gross,” she said. “I smell like sweat and deer skin blankets and dirty hair.”  

“Don’t care,” he said. “It puts your in a better mindset.” He tugged her to her feet.

“Yesterday, you said sex made me all clingy,” Darcy said, rubbing his arms.

“I was trying to make you laugh, you got all emotional,” he said, leading her over to where they slept.

“I was weeping for fettuccine,” Darcy said. He laughed.

“Fettuccine alfredo is what you really miss, huh?” he said, folding himself down onto the cave floor and then reaching out to help her.

“And Orangina and popcorn and oh my God, zucchini! I don’t even _like_ zucchini all that much,” she said, as he fiddled with her clothes.

“Kiss me,” he said, grinning.

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth,” Darcy grumbled, then sighed at his touch.

They were kissing when there was a sudden noise in the distance. A strange blaring, yelps, and the howling of wolves. “Fuck,” Rumlow said, jerking away from her roughly.

“What is it?” Darcy said.

“Hela,” he told her grimly. “I want you to take the blankets and hide at the back of the cave. Absolutely silence, you understand? She takes me, you let her, all right?”

Darcy nodded and scrambled to follow his instructions. She was hiding under the blanket pile when she heard a woman’s voice. “Returned to us so soon, Commander?” the voice said.

“As you requested,” he said calmly.

“I did no such thing,” Hela said. “You were fiddled with by mortal magic. I find it offensive, personally. But that explains why it went so terrifically awry.”

“Awry, your majesty?” he said. There was silence. Darcy knew Rumlow was probably feigning ignorance.

“So respectful,” Hela said. “I am given a fraction of the respect I truly deserve. But do not pretend with me. You stink of humanity. Come out, little one!” Darcy rose quietly out of her blankets. Brock looked grim. “You are quite small,” Hela said, as Darcy stood.

“Yes,” Darcy stammered, then tried for a rudimentary curtsy. The woman’s antlers were fierce and alarming. She looked a lot like Loki, only more ominously calm.

“How charming!” Hela said with a laugh. “You will come with me.”

“She’s not going alone,” Brock said firmly, stepping between Hela and Darcy.

“Very well,” Hela said with an airy gesture. Darcy sucked in a horrified breath when she saw the knife flying through the air. Instinctively, stupidly, she’d stumbled forward, pushing Brock out of the way, when it landed in her shoulder.

The pain was agonizing. Darcy had passed out a little and could faintly hear Brock swearing.

“Poison tipped,” Hela said casually. “She’ll need a healer. I suppose you can come, after all.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

She drifted in and out of wakefulness as Brock carried her, swearing, down to a sled drawn by wolves. “Of all the stupid fucking things,” he said in a low voice. “How could you be so stupid?”

“Saved you,” Darcy murmured.

“I do apologize, I only meant for your agonizing pain to be temporary,” Hela said dryly. “She stepped into my throw. You are genuinely distressed?”

“Yeah,” he said in a raw voice.

“Oh, how quaint,” Hela said.

“Big puppy,” Darcy babbled at the nearest harnessed wolf, reaching out. It looked at her fingers and Brock jerked her away.

“Stop that,” he said.

“She is rather charming in a daffy sort of way. Perhaps she can be saved,” Hela said. “My brothers have come to Vormir to rescue her, it rather invalidates my bargaining position if she is dead already.” Brock looked at her.

“I would appreciate that,” Brock said grimly. “Your majesty.” Hela inclined her antlers.

“I am rather upset with you for stabbing my wolf,” she said. She took the reins of the sled. Brock carried Darcy in.

“It was eating me at the time,” he said.

“They need stimulation or they get bored. It’s not as if your death is permanent,” Hela told him. “Poor Gunnolf is still healing. Mush, darlings!” she called and the wolves sprang to their feet. The sled moved fluidly along in the snow. Brock held Darcy and murmured swear words.

 

They’d reached Hela’s cold, strange palace when she glanced at the two occupants in the back of the sled. Hela narrowed her eyes at Darcy. “I think perhaps she will make it,” the Goddess of Death said. “Provided you are willing to untether your fate from hers?” she said. “I may also require further service from you in exchange for this assistance.” They shared a long look. Brock looked down at Darcy. Her forehead was pale and beaded with sweat.

“I’ll do it,” he said grimly.

“Get me a healer!” she called to the nearest guard.

 

When the Asgardians and the scientist were ushered into the room, Jane dashed towards Darcy. “What happened?” she said. Brock was sitting next to her, holding a still hand.

“She stepped in front of a toy knife meant for me,” Brock said dully.

“Will she be all right?” Loki said. “Who threw the knife?”

“I did,” their sister said, appearing in the doorway.

“Hela,” Thor boomed angrily.

“She will be fine,” Hela said. “She received the antidote in time. She is merely resting.”

“She’s cold,” Jane said, whirling on the goddess. “If something happens to her--”

“It will be entirely _your_ fault for sending her where she didn’t belong,” Hela said smoothly. “Living humans do not belong in my realm. Especially not out in the wilderness.”

“Do not insult Jane,” Thor said, stepping forward.

“Brother--” Loki began.

“Get her out of here,” Brock said to Jane. At the sound of his voice, Darcy’s hand squeezed and he turned, all attention focused on her.

“We need to take her and go,” Jane said clearly. “Immediately.”

“Gladly,” Hela said.

“I am afraid we cannot,” Thor said.

“Pardon me?” Hela said.

“What?” Jane said.

“We are also here to beg your assistance, sister,” Loki began placatingly. “There is a situation in the universe.”

“Thanos,” Thor explained. “We were scarcely able to evade him in space and make it to Midgard. We would have failed without the help of Carol of the Rambeaus.”

“Who?” Hela said.

“Captain Marvel,” Loki said. “Another captain. Midgardians are uncommonly fond of that rank. I have no idea why, it has nothing of the ring of Prince---”

“No, who is Thanos?” Hela said.

“He intends to decimate half the life in the universe,” Loki said.

“Big, purple guy, face like a testic--” Thor began.

“A genocidal zealot who needs to be stopped,” Jane said definitively, cutting off Thor’s musing. “You could stop him. No one else can,” the scientist told Hela.

“Why should I bother?” Hela said, although her eyes lit up.

“Because you’re bored, like the wolves,” Brock said quietly. That set off Loki. He looked around, gestured at the grey, cold castle.

“It is a dreary realm, I’m afraid it will be more dreary once Thanos’s work is done,” he said slyly.

“What?” Hela said.

“Where will the dead go?” Loki said. “Three and a half billion on Midgard alone. Might contribute to overcrowding on Vormir.”  Hela’s expression went slack.

“I cannot take billions more of the undead, I am at administrative capacity!” Hela said. “I just negotiated a truce between Red Skull and those people following Rasputin. This is completely father’s fault, not setting up fail safes for cataclysmic events!”

“To be fair, he was usually at the forefront of them, so he never dealt with that particular consequence,” Loki said. “He just threw people out of Asgard. His daughter. His first son--”

“He threw you out?” Hela said to Thor.

“He almost landed on our van,” Jane said.

“What is a van?” Hela said.

“Dreadful,” Loki said.

“Well,” Hela said. She turned to Brock. “I am afraid I will be asking something of you sooner than I anticipated.”

He set his jaw, as she rang for the head of her guards.

 

Darcy regained consciousness in a very cold room. Above her head, a glittering chandelier was ice-blue in the dim light. Brock was leaning over her, eyes wide. “Sweetheart, you with me?” he said. There were voices nearby.

“Hi,” Darcy said hoarsely. She felt floaty. “What happened?”

“This is Hela’s. They gave you stuff,” he said. “Thor and Loki and Jane are here.” Those were the booming, raised, and urgent voices she could hear. “You feel okay?” he asked. Darcy craned her head up.

“Cold,” she whispered. Hela, Thor, and Loki were bent over a map, arguing strategy for defeating Thanos. Jane was typing out a message on a small black box. “Jane?” Darcy said. Jane bolted to her side.

“We’re taking you home in a minute,” Jane said. “They’re dealing with an interplanetary crisis, you’re free to leave.”

“You’re not safe here, you need to go. Don’t put up a fight,” Brock said. His face was blank. Darcy read the truth in his expression.

“No,” Darcy said. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“You have to go,” he told her. “I have to stay.”

“But we’re--” Darcy said, confused.

“No longer tethered together, I’m afraid,” Hela said. "You're free of him, my dear."

“What?” Darcy said, horrified. She couldn’t just leave him here.

“Oh, she is actually sad, isn’t that charming?” Hela said, when Darcy’s hand held his more tightly. Hela looked at Brock. “She truly likes you, despite your terrifying visage,” she said.

“What bargain did you make with him?” Darcy said to Hela, mind frantic.

“Someone will have to run Vormir in my absence and he has no allies whatsoever. The wolves have grown rather fond of playing with him, he is clearly the best person,” Hela said. “He will be able to negotiate between the factions and will remain loyal to me--”

“You can’t just stay here,” Darcy said stubbornly. “No.”

“I can,” he said.

“You promised you’d go back with me,” she said.

“I lied, all right,” Brock said. “All I ever did was lie to you.”

“I--I care about you,” Darcy told him. “I don’t even know why, but I do.”

“Tough,”  Brock said. “I was just trying to win you over to stay alive.” He twitched. “I manipulated you, okay?” he said. “Everything I said was a lie.”

“He is lying now, I can tell,” Loki said casually.

“Yeah, everyone can tell. He's twitching,” Jane said. 

“No,” Darcy said. “I don’t agree with this!”

“Shall we end this tedious discussion with a visitation arrangement?” Hela said, shrugging.

“The world does need saving, Darcy,” Thor said gently.

“Come along, you can visit him as soon as the rioting and in-fighting has calmed down following my departure,” Hela said, gesturing to Darcy.

“She can’t--” Brock said.

“You will have my guards and this palace, I do not see why you cannot have your little sweetie for the odd visit,” Hela said. “Maim anyone who looks at her, they’ll get the hint.”

“It worked for Father,” Loki admitted. Brock’s jaw worked.

“Fine,” he said. “If you go now, I’ll bring you back,” he told Darcy.

“Everything ready?” Hela said. Thor nodded. Darcy sat up weakly, looked at Brock, and burst into tears.

“I don’t want to leave you here,” Darcy sobbed. He wrapped his arms around her gently.

“You gotta go,” he said. Darcy looked at him sadly, blinking. "You gotta go, okay?" he said. She stared at him. He swallowed. “I’ll send for you when it’s safer,” he said finally. 

"How sweet, he admits his affections," Hela said. She smiled brightly, eyes opening wider. “Your visiting will be an excellent way of keeping him as a good administrator,” she said to Darcy. “It just occurred to me. So, you must visit. I will brook no opposition.” Brock sighed.

“Where’s the armory?” he asked Hela. “If I’m putting down rebellions, I want guns.”

“Downstairs,” Hela said.

“Would you like me to give Darcy a little protection against the elements before she comes back?” Loki offered. Brock nodded, carefully guiding Darcy with the group. She was still a little unsteady and teary.

“See? Solutions are possible,” Hela said. “Oh, you’ll need to come up with some ceremonial garb for yourself to rule,” she said to Brock airily. “Who were you before? Skullbones?”

“Crossbones,” Jane said.

“That will work,” Hela said, magicking up his old outfit in a more cold-appropriate form. “Oh, that is nicely ominous.” Darcy looked up into his silver and black mask with wide eyes.

“Still me,” Brock said to her. He felt a little itchy, though.

“It could use a helmet,” Loki said.

“Yes, I quite agree,” Hela said. “Helmets are so useful--stylish and they make people nervous. Follow me.” She led them out of the room, down a winding hall, and finally to what looked like a tall mirror. “You step through,” she said casually, gesturing.

“Give us a second,” Brock said.

“We don’t have a second,” Loki said seriously, reaching for Darcy. He’d been glancing at his phone. “Thanos wants my Tesseract.”

 _“My_ Tesseract,” Hela said. “As firstborn child of the All-Father.”

“Can we not argue, we must go to New Asgard. Jane, the portal will take you and Darcy to Sweden,” Thor said. Darcy looked back at Brock as Jane and she went first.

“Brock,” she said.

“I’ll--” Brock began, then wondered how to finish the sentence, as he let go of her hand.

“I think we can figure something out,” Loki said. “Go along.” He gave the women a gentle shove and they disappeared with a whoosh.

“Skurge will assist you, he is quite safe,” Hela said to Brock. “No ambition for power.”

“To New Asgard and Thanos,” Thor said. “It would be better if you had not killed my friends,” he told his sister.

“Would you like them back?” Hela said. “I might be able to negotiate with Valhalla?”

“You are not getting back those idiots if I cannot have Mother--” Loki was saying, as they went through the portal with a crack of thunder.

 

The portal resolved itself back into a mirror. Brock looked around quizzically, then pushed his mask off. He’d forgotten how warm it was. “Shit,” he said. He turned around. Someone was wandering down the hallway. Brock drew his knife. A large man with tattoos on his shaved head looked at him. “Who are you?” Brock asked.

“Skurge,” he said.

“Hela mentioned you,” Brock said. “I’m Crossbones.”

“I was her executioner for a period,” Skurge said. “I was looking for you. Head of the guards sent me to find you, show you around.”

“Interesting resume,” Brock said. “Can you show me the armory? I’m afraid we’re going to have trouble.”

“A fight?” Skurge said.

“Possibly,” Brock told him.

“I wouldn’t mind a crack at that Rasputin, hear he’s unkillable,” Skurge said. “Was unkillable beforehand. That’d make a change.”

“Hela said you were harmless,” Brock said dryly. The other man sighed.

“I’m not supposed to be here. Wanted to go to Valhalla with me mates, but it turns out my last act was processed too late and they counted all my other recent ones when they sent me here instead,” Skurge said. “The Norns were a little overworked, what with all of Asgard falling apart.”

“Errors do happen. What do you normally?” Brock said.

“Feed the wolves,” Skurge said.

“Not enough,” Brock told him.

“See, I think that, too,” Skurge said. “She argues with me, but I hear their stomachs growling, the little bugs are hungry--” Brock flinched slightly.

“Feed ‘em as much as you want,” Brock said. “I’m thinking we’ll have greater concerns.”

How did you fight battles when the dead didn’t stay dead?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

On a field in Wakanda, Thanos’s Army appeared, pouring towards the line of troops. “Do something,” Loki said to his sister.

“Give me a moment,” she said. “Timing is everything, little brother.”

“He’s always impatient,” Thor said. “Never thinks his plans through.”

“Shut up,” Loki said. “At least I have a plan!”

“Gentlemen, can we postpone the family squabble?” Captain America said. “Because we’ve got incoming Thanos.” The Wakandan battlements were straining under the pressure from Thanos’s Army.

“I am ready,” Okoye said. “I want her spear.” She gestured to Proxima Midnight.

“Someone is ambitious,” T’Challa said.

“Everybody likes trophies,” Bucky said, over comms. He was in a Wakandan aircraft behind one of the Dora Milaje and Rocket. Steve was letting him snipe today.

“Line’s about to break, Cap!” Tony yelled.

“Well,” Hela said, “shall we greet our guests?” She drew her weapons.

“Go, Buck,” Steve radioed up and Bucky immediately began sniping the invaders from the air. Thor swung Stormbreaker to gather power.

“She did give you a nice present,” Loki said, eyeing the axe with a twinge of envy.

“I did miss all his birthdays,” Hela said. “Fenrir!” She’d brought some of the adult wolves with her. “I could always give you a puppy, baby brother?”

“Baby brother,” Thor repeated, chuckling, as he ran at the army.

 

The battle raged around them as Thanos emerged onto the field. He was still missing a few Infinity Stones. At the sight of Hela, he froze. “The Goddess of Death?” he said with tremulous awe.

“Kneel,” she told him. Behind him, his own troops knelt. He’d raised his Children to worship death.

“Your Majesty,” he began, sinking to his knees. “All of my existence has been devoted to yo---” She did not let him finish. She went for the head. Moments later, the entire army had turned to ash. She crushed the Gauntlet in her hands. “These need to be returned. Mr. Rogers, is it?” Hela said to Steve. She handed him the stones. “You seem like the type not to be tempted to leave one lying about.”

“I didn’t plan to--” Loki said.

“Please, I know you would have stolen it. Or them,” Thor said.

“You’re the one who left one with the Collector. I mean, look at him!” Loki hissed.

“That dude did look pretty _Star Wars_ ,” Peter Quill said. “Like, very villainous and all that.” He and Gamora had rescued one stone together, evading her so-called father with the help of Captain Marvel.

“He’s dead,” Nebula whispered to Gamora, still staring at the spot where Thanos had disintegrated. “Is he really dead?” Hela tilted her antlered head and looked at Nebula.

“Extremely,” Hela said. She smiled. “You are very attractive.”

“Hey, Point Break, did your sister just hit on the blue chick?” Tony asked.

“I thought she liked Valkyrie,” Thor said. Okoye rolled her eyes.

“Are we done?” she said.

“Yes,” T’Challa said. “I think we are.”

“Do I have to go home?” Hela asked. She winked at Nebula. “I want to have more fun.”

 

***

It was snowy, but clear on Vormir. “Bloody hell,” Skurge said. “He’s tall.” He and Brock were staring across a white field at the men on the other side. In the center, a bearded man with vivid eyes stared at them unblinkingly.

“Goddamned Rasputin,” Brock muttered.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Skurge said.

“We re-negotiate,” Brock said. “Another truce.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” one of Hela’s other guards whispered.

“We burn his settlement and then we let the wolves loose on them. The adult ones,” Brock said grimly. Having all returned from Wakanda, the wolves followed him, as Hela’s representative-in-residence. Skurge blanched.

“It’d be a lesson,” Skurge said.

“They wouldn’t die permanently,” Brock added, looking slightly guilty.

“Hela would approve,” the other guard added.

“When is she coming back?” Skurge asked. Brock shrugged.

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” Brock said. Skurge peered at Rasputin. He was still staring at them with those dead-looking pale eyes. “But if it does, we never tell Darcy, all right? She thinks I don’t do HYDRA-type shit any more,” Brock said to the other men.

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison. Brock moved forward to greet the Russian.

 

 _“Dobryy den,”_ Brock said, having learned formal greetings from Romanoff. Rasputin stared at him, expressionless. “I understand you are a religious leader, Mr. Rasputin?” he offered dryly. A man he recognized as Russian HYDRA translated at the mystic’s elbow. Rasputin blinked, then tilted his head. _Fuck_ , Brock thought, _this ain’t good._ Still, he maintained eye contact. 

 _“Dobro pozhalovat!”_ Rasputin said suddenly, clapping Brock on the shoulder. He smiled.

“He says welcome to you,” the ex-Russian HYDRA explained. “He is very anxious for acknowledgment of his religious leadership.”

“That so?” Brock said. He was surprised when Rasputin spoke in halting English.

“Hela does not acknowledge me, only Norse gods,” he said. “But I am holy man. When I was twenty-eight, I have vision of the Holy Virgin, I leave my family---this is why I am here,” he said. Brock was treated to a long monologue on the nature of Rasputin’s sins and misfortunes. “I have an emotional affair with the tsarina, I am murdered,” he told Brock finally.

“Emotional affair?” Brock said, dumbfounded.

“Once, I touch her hand. God sees all,” Rasputin said. “I betray God, I betray the tsar. This is how I am in Vormir.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said politely.

“Also, I had affairs with many people and I took bribes,” he added. Brock nodded.

“That happens,” he said politely to the Russian. “Sometimes, it can’t be helped.”

“My daughter end up in America, in the circus,” he said. “She becomes lion tamer.” He sighed.

“You had a daughter?” Brock said.

“Two. I wanted them to be ladies,” he said mournfully. “Instead, I die: circus!” He gestured in frustration.

“Yeah, you gotta leave your kids enough money for when you’re dead,” Brock mused. “It’s tricky.”

 

***

Back in Sweden, Darcy and Jane were returning home from the library. The world had been saved, Ian was Irina’s problem now, and Thor and Jane were engaging in some sort of long-distance reconciliation. Of course, Darcy had one difficulty. “I don’t know why Brock doesn’t think it’s safe for me to visit yet,” Darcy grumbled to Jane.

“He’s probably just worried,” Jane said. “It’s kind of sweet, really. You’re his one altruistic thing.”

“Phffft,” Darcy said. “I talk about him so much, Captain Marvel accused me of having a Canadian boyfriend!”

“Carol thinks you’re hot, get a clue,” Jane said, unpacking their library books.

“Oh,” Darcy said, taking off her scarf. Just then, she heard a sound from upstairs. _Clack clack clack._ “A letter!” she squealed, dashing up the staircase and pushing her bedroom door open. She heard Jane’s laugh, but her eyes were on the piece of paper moving in the antique typewriter on her desk. It had been magicked up by Loki so she and Brock would be able to write messages to one another.

“What does he say?” Jane asked, appearing in the doorway. Darcy leaned in close to read. The letter was still in-progress. Brock had his own machine on the other side.

“Rasputin agreed to a truce!” Darcy said. “Yay!”

“I wonder what he’s like?” Jane said aloud. Loki shimmered into view by Darcy’s window.

“His beard is exceedingly unattractive,” Loki said, eyeing his fingernails.

“You met him?” Jane said.

“Once,” Loki said.

“He had an emotional affair with the tsarina?” Darcy said, still reading Brock’s letter.

“Emotional affairs are pedestrian. Speaking of tedious things, my sister continues her jaunts in space with Nebula. I am afraid she delays her return to Vormir again. Perhaps you could break the news gently?” he said to Darcy.

“Fine, make me do it,” Darcy grumbled. The letter finished and she took it out of the typewriter to read a second time. Loki came and peered over her shoulder when she made a happy noise. “I can visit!” she said.

“This is the most unromantic letter I’ve ever seen,” Loki said, plucking it from her fingers. “Everything is political negotiations except when he discusses these things he wants to do with your body when you get there, it’s absolutely crude. No poetry at all.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “He’s just not terribly into art or whatever.”

“He wants her not to wash too much,” Loki said, raising his eyebrows at Jane.

“Give me that back!” Darcy said, snatching the letter. “That’s private!”

“I made the magical typewriter,” Loki said. He looked at her slyly. “Why should deer-skin blankets remind him of you, anyway?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of Rasputin's daughters did work in a circus: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Rasputinof


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“Wish me luck,” Darcy said to Jane. She’d packed her bags for the trip to Vormir. Jane was smiling at her.

“You’re really taking a four-foot giraffe and takeout fettuccine to Vormir?” Jane asked.

“Absolutely,” Darcy said, patting Cheerio in his collar. “I have to take all my stuff. You’re going to bathe in my absence, right?” she told Jane.

“I promise to bathe and sleep at appropriate intervals,” Jane said. Loki snorted. Thor was grinning between them.

“Don’t make me come back early because you're all smelly and sleep-deprived,” Darcy said, hugging her. She got a hug from each of the Asgardians. “And make sure she eats!” Darcy told Thor. He nodded.

“We will eat. Brother, some assistance?” Thor said, catching the quick flash of worry in Jane’s expression as the portal appeared behind Darcy.

“Ah, yes,” Loki said. He deposited a kiss on Darcy’s cheek. “This will protect you from the cold, Jotun magic,” he explained. “And this”--he looped a bracelet around her wrist--”will protect against other injuries. I cannot however guarantee against romantic injury,” he said, smirking.

“Hush,” Jane said.

“Thank you,” Darcy told him. Reflexively, she hugged everyone again. Then she slid the takeout bag over her shoulder, tucked Cheerio under her arm, and waved, before stepping into the portal with her suitcase. The woman-sized portal shrank to a tiny circle, then disappeared with a _plop._ Jane sighed.

“Do not worry, she will be fine,” Loki said.

“How can you be so sure?” Jane said, shoulders sinking. Thor rubbed her back.

“My protections are sturdy as well as artful,” he said. “Also, I am fairly sure that Hela has spread the word that anyone who harms Darcy will face her eternal wrath. She likes having Rumlow as her liegeman, it lets her have the freedom to do as she likes. If something were to happen to Darcy, it would jeopardize their arrangement.” Loki smiled. “Fear not, little Jane.” He stepped out of the room. “Is there any more of that fettuccine?”

“Little Jane?” Jane said, trotting after him.

“You have made a tragic mistake,” Thor said, chuckling.

 

***

When Darcy stepped through the other side of the portal, she found herself in a cozy bedroom. “Hmmm, my room to my room, from the look of things,” she said, peering around. There was a cracking fire, a cozy bed, and Vormir weather-appropriate clothing, but no Brock. “Well, where is he?” she asked Cheerio. She plopped the stuffed animal on the bed and turned to look out the window. “Not outside,” she narrated to Cheerio, “but lots of really big puppies. Oh, look, they’re playing!” she said. The wolves were chasing each other and rolling around. A large man in a furry hat was watching them. Next to him, an even taller man with a long beard was talking animatedly. “I think that’s Rasputin?” Darcy whispered, pressing her nose against the window. She didn’t hear Brock coming quietly to the doorway.

“Darcy?” he said in a delighted voice. Darcy turned with a squeal and immediately dropped the take out bag still in her hand.

“Oh my God,” she said. She looked at him. “What happened?”

“Huh?” he said, stepped over to pick up her bag.

“Your face!” she said. “You didn’t tell me!” He grinned. He was completely unscarred.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said, looking sly. “When Hela fixed up my armor, she fixed my face underneath,” he explained. “Nice, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, blushing. Dear God, she’d forgotten how good-looking he was. She felt a little weak in the knees.

“What’s in the bag?”

“I brought fettuccine,” she said. “Since we couldn’t go get any.”

“Good idea,” he said, setting the bag on a table. He pulled her in close. She tilted her chin up to look at him, smiling. She couldn’t stop smiling, actually. She thought her face was going to actually hurt. “I’m sorry I was late,” he said.

“So, when Hela healed your scars, did that undo them everywhere?” she asked.

“Did you want to find out?” he said. She nodded, still smirking. He towed her gently towards the bed. She laughed as he leaned down to kiss her. “I missed you,” he said in a rough voice.

“Why’d you make me wait so long?”

“I wanted you to be safe,” he said. He grinned at she pried at his clothes.

“Oooh,” Darcy said, between kisses, as she unbuttoned his shirt. “So many abs. Is there a shortage somewhere else?” She ran her fingers over his muscles gently. He laughed.

“Get in bed, princess,” he told her. Then he reached over and took Cheerio.

“What are you doing with my plush giraffe child?” Darcy said, as she took her shoes off. Brock set him in a chair.

“Turning him around, so he’s not traumatized by watching his parents have sex,” he joked. Darcy started to laugh.

 

He was kissing her neck when she tilted her head up slightly. “Did you know Hela sent me a weird tiara thing that means I'm some sort of minor death aristocrat?  It’s in my bag,” she said. She toyed with a bit of his hair, wrapping it around her fingers.

“I’ve decided she’s a very nice person, underneath all the homicide,” Brock said. He slid her pants down. “Possibly my favorite boss,” he said, smirking down at her. “Pull my hair if I do anything you don’t like,” he said, as he trailed kisses down her body.

“What am I supposed to do when you do something I do like?” she asked with mock-innocence.

“Keep talking like that, I won’t return you,” he teased.

 

-The End-


End file.
